Hot Air
by Pyrus Japonica
Summary: Evil villians, secret agents, a dark threat, adventure, true love, sword fights, miracles...wait that's the Princess Bride. But this is pretty good too. Rated PG for suspense. ::COMPLETE!:: See Ice Water for Part 2!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:  I woke up this morning and discovered that I don't actually own Hey Arnold!  Man, I hate when that happens.  (This applies to all chapters in this fic, so don't expect me to say it again, k?)

Hot Air

By Pyrus Japonica

Prologue

_Somewhere in __South America___

            The jungle at night was anything but peaceful.  Within the boundaries of the lush green plants hundreds of creatures went about their business.  A night bird cocked its head high in the branches and listened for a minute to the cries of other nocturnals before echoing with its own.  A family of wild pigs grunted along as they hurried towards water.  They were safe for the moment – the huge cat sleeping above them only ate an hour ago.  A lizard leapt onto a nearby rock, but scurried away quickly when it sensed large movements beside it.  It hid under an exposed root and watched the two disturbing shadows slid past.

            The shadows did not belong in the jungle.  They were not there to search for prey, nor were they headed towards the river.  In fact, they were going in the exact opposite direction, towards a group of temporary shelters that were even more out of place than the shadows were.  Masked by night and the natural jungle noises, the two moved as silently as possible into the camp.

            They paused by a particular building.  One of the figures conjured up a device of some sort and appeared to check it, then shook its head at the other figure.  They moved on, stopping at each structure, until finally-

            "This is it," whispered the first shadow.  The second nodded and put an ear to the cloth wall of the tent, then motioned and they slipped inside.

            It was even darker inside the tent, but shadows have no fear of darkness.  These two walked about easily, as if they were a pair of the night-seeing animals from outside, and had lived there all their lives.  In fact they were from quite far away, and at least one of them was acutely aware of this.  The first shadow shivered, though the thermometer in the watch it was wearing read 99˚F.  The second shadow was sifting through the contents of a crate.

            "Cimon, what's taking so long?"

            "It's not like they're just going to leave it out in the open, you know.  What's your hurry?"

            The first shadow stiffened slightly.  "No hurry.  This place just gives me the creeps is all."

            "What're you afraid of?"  There was no answer.  "Rats?"  If a shadow could laugh, the second one would have.

            "Very funny."  The first shadow was not amused.

            "You know, this would go a lot faster if you would deign to help me."

            "Not my jurisdiction."  But the first shadow lifted the lid of the nearest crate.  "Oh.  My.  Um, am I looking at what I think I'm looking at?"

            The second shadow immediately stopped what it was doing and came over to look in the crate.  "Oh man."

            "I knew we shouldn't have taken this job!"

            The first shadow picked up something and looked at it in awe.  It was cylindrical, green, and gently glowing.  There were about 40 others still in the crate.  The shadows looked at each other, then the first spoke.

"We are in a whole lot of trouble here," it said with a slightly hysterical edge to its voice.

            Suddenly, the lights went on.  Blinded and de-shadowed, it took the figures a moment to be able to see the mass of burly men surrounding them.  So _that's where all the guards were._

            The two people caught in the tent surveyed the various weapons being pointed in their direction.  The second one shook its masked head.

            "Man, this is why I hate business trips."

A/N:  Don't worry, most chapters should be longer than this, this is just a prologue.  A couple of notes here…first, thanks so much everyone who reviewed my two short stories!  That meant a lot to me, thank you!  That said, I'm not going to demand reviews or anything, frankly I'll probably keep writing this even if everyone hates it, because I went to the trouble of outlining it so now I'm committed.  (In more ways than one, heh.)  However, they do really encourage me, and will most likely prompt me to write faster…(hint, hint, grin)  And I'll start thanking people by name/answering questions in this fic too, since it'll be my first chapter fic.

Speaking of this fic, in case you're wondering where I'm going with this…don't assume anything.  Well, you can assume some things, like the fact that Hey Arnold! characters will be in it…but yeah.  What I mean is that so far, I've got a series of three fics outlined (this being the first) and one more in mind, so if I do something that you hate (and I might) don't worry, chances are it'll all work out the way most people want it to in the end.  If that makes any sense.  Well I'll post the first chapter in the next couple of days and then ya'll can all flame it if it's bad.  :)   ~PJ


	2. In Which Gerald Decides to Make Some Cha...

Chapter 1

In Which Gerald Decides To Make Some Changes in His Life

_Washington__DC__, several months previous_

            DC is a city of restaurants.  From snooty five-stars to run-down diners, even the most discerning of appetites can find something edible in the area.  The food at _The Falling Saucer was more than edible, having been rated "Most Diverse Menu" by local critics for the past three years running and placed on the Top Ten Mid-Range Restaurants list for five._

            Although the food was unarguably diverse (ostrich steaks and ox-tail soup were among the favorites on the menu) it was really the atmosphere that made the place so popular.  The acoustics were designed so well that even when the building was filled to capacity at over 300 tables, near silence reigned over the patrons as long as they spoke in normal tones.

            Which was why table 43 was receiving some very pointed looks.

            "Listen, Ginger sweetie, it's not you.  It's me."

            "Don't you start with me Gerry!  You used that exact same line the _last time we broke up!"_

            Gerald started to mentally slap himself, but stopped when Ginger did it for him.  Ouch.  Now that he thought about it, she was right, he had used that line last time.  Or was it the time before?  He had long since lost track of the number of times he and Ginger had broken up, got back together, broken up, got back together…ever since they had first met in college.  Was there a line he hadn't used?  He thought harder.

            "I want to know the truth!  Gerry, are you listening to me?  The truth!"

            _Well, there's a first time for everything.  Gerald looked at the redhead across from him.  Her arms were folded and she was utterly ignoring the stares from the other tables, focusing on him her patented death glare.  __So much for thinking she wouldn't make a scene in public.  She probably thought there was someone else.  He almost laughed.  Who else would put up with him?  He had been working with the FBI for most of his adult life, and he was, well, the job.  Women came second, and in his limited experience, they didn't stand that for long.  Except Ginger.  Ginger who had followed him to DC.  Ginger who got him his first job.  Ginger who would do anything for him._

            Anything except break up with him, which was the only thing he was interested in right now.  _The truth, huh?__  Let's see…how about you're the only girl I've ever met who only grows a spine when we break up?  That our fights when it's over are the best part of our relationship?  That I've finally figured out that I want something more than a shadow…with fangs?  He shook his head.  He didn't really want to hurt her, they'd been friends too long for that.  Well…friends…slightly psychotic acquaintances…same thing.  She was still waiting.  __Well, here goes._

            "I've put in for a transfer."

            She hadn't expected that.  "You what?"

            "A transfer.  To New Jersey.  You know, for that joint effort thing.  Anti-terrorist stuff."  He tried to make it sound as though he wasn't excited about it and didn't want to get far, far away from Ginger.

            Ginger gave her head a shake and recovered her anger.  "You expect me to believe that?"

            "I asked Charlie myself.  He said it's all but guaranteed."

            That did it.  Ginger got up so fast she knocked her chair over.  "Oh really?  Well I don't ever want to see you again, Gerald Martin Johansson!!"  She threw her napkin at the table, grabbed her purse, and was about to storm off when she stopped and turned a few feet away.

            "One more thing.  You're fired!"  She flounced as if she had made her point and finished storming off.

            Gerald looked sheepishly around at the shocked patrons and shrugged.  

"Never date your boss," he advised them.

************

            Two weeks later, Gerald was walking through his nearly-bare apartment, making sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything.  His transfer had come through quicker than he expected (Ginger probably had something to do with that) and he had to get out now or pay another six month's rent, which in DC was no small beans.

            _Anti-terrorism.__  Finally, I get to be the good guy again.  He had found that after working with the FBI for a while, you sometimes get confused about whose side you're really on.  Was he working to protect the people from drugs?  That he could handle.  Criminals?  No problem.  __But you can't protect people from themselves, he thought tiredly.  He had seen too many people destroy their own lives, and had to clean up the mess afterwards.  He had seen abuse of all kinds.  And he had seen fellow agents who were so used to it, they hardly saw it anymore.  He didn't want to end up like that.  He had already seen too much._

            He went through the bathroom and bedroom and was inspecting the kitchen when the mail dropped through the slot on the front door.  Gerald noted that he still had to get the sole surviving plant he owned down from the ceiling hook and went to go get his daily junk.

            "American Express bill…I may have won a million bucks…application for an American Express card…" he muttered to himself as he sorted through the small pile of envelopes.  He came to a single hand-written envelope at the bottom of the pile.  "Shoot!"  _Arnold__!  "I knew I forgot to tell someone I was moving!  Some best friend I am," he said irritably to the potted plant, which listened attentively._

            Gerald sighed and opened the letter, after checking the return address.  _Still at the boarding house.  Arnold had been saying he wanted to get out of there and see the world ever since he graduated from the community college nearby.  But somehow, something had always gotten in the way.  Right now it was money.  Regardless of how great his friends and family thought Arnold's paintings were, the fact remained that they just weren't selling.  He was working at Mrs. Vitello's right now to make ends meet, and from what Gerald had heard he gathered that those few boarders with paying jobs helped him out from time to time._

            He read the letter, which was full of optimism as usual.  Same old Arnold.  As always, he had a plan to get the money he needed, but first he had to take care of some problems with the boarders, his grandparents, a friend…  Gerald shook his head.  Arnold was never getting out of there.  Maybe when his grandparents died (they were still going strong, despite being well into their nineties by now) he could sell the boarding house and…but no, not if anyone still needed to live there.  Arnold just couldn't abandon anyone like that.  So, he was stuck.

            Gerald finished the letter, folded it and jammed it in his back pocket.  _At least he seems happy.  He couldn't imagine Arnold without his sense of hope.  He thought back to his school days with a smile, thinking of all the do-goody things he had done for his best friend's sake.  It was partly in honor of those times and his friend that he was changing his life now.  And partly because he was looking for something, he knew that.  He just didn't know what it was he was looking for._

            "I am a messed up guy," he told the plant as he unhooked it from the ceiling and prepared to go, "But all that is going to change, you'll see."  The plant thought it best not to respond.

****************

            "Hey new guy.  I'm going for some coffee, want some?"

            "No thanks.  And my name's Gerald."

            "Right, nice to meet ya.  I'm Joe.  See ya around then."

            "Yep."  Gerald leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.  His first day on the job, and he was already getting eye strain from the cheap computer monitor he had been assigned.  He had never realized that a desk job was so…boring.  He stared at his screen saver, watching the words "Ical Corp." bounce around.

            When he had reported to his new boss in Jersey (a short, balding man named Simon, who had a very distracting eye twitch) Gerald had been assigned a field position almost immediately.  It seems that the FBI had been hearing rumors about certain biological weapons possibly being smuggled into the States through small-size medical and chemical export/import companies in the area, such as Ical Corporation.  It was more a long shot than anything else, and no more details were known about it, but they didn't want to take any chances.  Hence Gerald's new desk job, with the added instructions to "keep an eye out".  He had the distinct impression that this was one of those "newbie" assignments no one else would touch.

            Actually the whole thing seemed kind of ridiculous to Gerald.  Simon had offered him a new identity for the job but he had decided it was best to keep it simple, besides he felt silly enough as it was.  What was he supposed to be looking for?  They didn't even ship supplies through the office in Jersey, it was just a business office.  Any smuggling would be done in New York, where the shipping office was located.  And the people he was working with certainly didn't seem like terrorists.  They were boring maybe, but not dangerous.

            He sighed.  Oh well, he hadn't met everyone in the office yet.  Who knows, maybe there was an evil villain lurking around here somewhere, with a secret underground tunnel where he kept…  He shook his head.  _Obviously, I've read way too many Purdy Boys mysteries over the years._

            Coffee was starting to sound good though.  It was only 2:30, and he needed waking up if he was going to make it until five.  Gerald got up, stretched and headed out of his cubicle and down the hallway to the break room.

            Someone was yelling up ahead.  It sounded like someone was getting reamed out by a superior.  Not wanting to get in the way, he slowed down some to let them finish before he got there.  He could hear two people, one male, one female.  The female seemed to be the one doing most of the yelling.  The male sounded like he was about to cry.

            "…read the memo…" he whimpered.

            "I'll tell you where you can stick your memo!  Next time you tell me directly, do you hear?  That means face-to-face, bucko!  Now scram!"

            The man got out of there so fast he almost ran into Gerald.  "S-sorry." he muttered and Gerald was shocked to recognize him as the man who had hired him into Ical.  At the time, he had struck him as a firm, almost imposing person, though Gerald was changing his mind fast.  Curious to see the woman responsible for breaking his new boss, he peered around the corner.

            At first he couldn't see her face.  She had bent over to retrieve a paper the man had probably dropped on the floor in his hurry.  She was wearing a nicely tailored mauve business suit that fit her form in a way that made him think maybe this job wouldn't be so boring after all.  Gerald straightened his tie without thinking as she turned around to face him.

            "Yeah?  What're you looking…" she didn't finish.  Instead she stared at him with her bright blue eyes, framed nicely by her long blonde hair and accented by two deep black eyebrows…Gerald realized he was staring back and blinked.

            "Helga?"

A/N:  I know, I know, "What about Phoebe??"  Don't worry, she'll show up…eventually.

Ok, thanks to:  Roxynomekop1288, CoolGirl89, Miss Matched, DropsofJupiter, :), and Ann Onamous, who all reviewed before this was even a story!  Wow!  Thanks ya'll!

I'm not going to answer predictions because I'm afraid I'll ruin it for someone, but if anyone has any questions about the plot so far I'll be happy to clear things up.  Feel free to email me also if you like, and review please of course.  The next chapter should be up next week at some point.  ~PJ


	3. In Which We Meet the Pink Nazi, and Gera...

Chapter 2

In Which We Meet the Pink Nazi, and Gerald Discovers Surprises Tend to Come in Pairs

"Helga?"

She didn't have a chance to respond.  Behind him Gerald heard a whimpering "Excuse me?"  He turned and was surprised to see that his boss had returned.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I just-"

But Helga (_It's gotta be her, Gerald thought.) had had time to get over her shock at seeing Gerald.  She thrust the paper she had picked up from the floor at the man and yelled at both of them._

"There!  Now get out!"  She shoved them forcefully out of the office and slammed the door, leaving them standing outside gaping at each other.  

Gerald's boss (whose name, if he remembered correctly, was Phil) had apparently recovered some from his earlier confrontation, though he still seemed rather likely to jump at small noises.  He turned to Gerald and gave him a half-smile.

"So, I see you've had the pleasure of meeting our shipping director."

Gerald blinked at him.  "You mean Hel- that woman in there is in charge of the whole shipping department?"

"That's right.  Imports, exports, medical, chemical, everything.  Whenever any order comes through, or any supplies need stocked, she's the one who makes it happen.  Unfortunately, she's good at it too.  Real good.  She almost single-handedly turned a 47% profit increase in the past six months she's been working here.  The CEO loves her, eats right out of her hand.  He doesn't have to work with her five days a week."  They were walking back towards the cubicles now, Gerald's mind now totally awake and no longer needing coffee.  Phil glanced behind him, then leaned in and whispered, "We call her the Pink Nazi around here.  But very, very quietly."  He risked a small smile and left Gerald at his cubicle.

Gerald's head was spinning.  He sat down at his desk and tried to make the room stand still.  It was Helga.  It had to be.  And she had recognized him too.  He was suddenly very glad that he hadn't used a fake identity for this job.  But what was Helga doing here, in New Jersey of all places?  He had always figured she'd end up running Big Bob's beeper empire.  Plus, she looked so…_Grown up, he realized and caught his reflection in an empty metal clipboard on his desk.  His hair was only about an inch high now, but he had a nice looking goatee coming in to make up for it.  He winked at his image.  __We may be grown up, but some things never change.  Case in point, I still look great in a suit.  He grinned._

"Mr. Johansson?"

Gerald snapped out of it and focused on the errand boy in front of him.

"Uh, yes?"

"Message for you sir."  He handed him a single sheet of paper, which Gerald read quickly.

Tall Hair Boy-

            Here's the deal:  I don't like you, and you don't like me.  We've never gotten along and I for one don't plan to start now.  So just stay out of my way, and I won't get you fired, got that?

                                    -H.

"Hey wait!"  Gerald flagged down the errand boy.  "Did she say anything to you when she gave you this?"  He waved the note towards him.

The boy snorted.  "I say as little as possible to that woman and she does the same to me.  She orders me to do something, I say 'Yes, Mrs. Pataki', and that about covers it."  He shrugged and headed down the hall.

Gerald stood there for a second.  There weren't any plants in the office, so he just looked at the ceiling.  

"Haven't I had enough surprises for one day?" he asked it.

**************

The woman in mauve finished gathering up her things, slung her bag over her shoulder, and left her office for the day, the door locking automatically behind her.  She walked briskly down the hall and into the elevator, her heels staccato against the linoleum.  Thankfully, she didn't hear the almost audible sigh of relief from the rest of the employees as she left the floor.

Helga had a lot on her mind.  She barely nodded to the doorman on her way out, and mechanically found her car (a new Volkswagen Beetle, custom painted pink of course), got in and started it.  Then she just sat there, staring at the garage wall.  Some graffiti artist had sprayed the words "Born to Kill" on it, and Helga found herself thinking that about summed up her current mood.  She took a deep breath and pulled out of the lot to head home.

It wasn't that she necessarily hated Gerald.  True, they had never gotten along but it wasn't really him that bothered her so much.  He just got in her way, like everyone else.  _No, not like everyone, she thought.  __Worse.__  Much worse.  He had this annoying habit of turning up at the worst possible times, usually when she least expected it.  She wondered briefly if he and Brainy were ever in league together, but dismissed the idea as yet another flight of fantasy she was so prone to._

But what was he doing here?  Why now of all times, and at this job?  Helga couldn't picture Gerald being happy in Cubeville.  He just didn't seem like the desk job type.  Hadn't Phoebe said he was in DC somewhere?  What, couldn't he keep a job there?  He had to be pretty desperate to end up in this place.  After all, Jersey's state motto was "Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere".

Helga braked for a red light and rubbed her temples for a moment.  Maybe it was a coincidence.  And maybe an alien civilization was building skyscrapers inside her nose.  She hit the steering wheel in frustration.  _What the heck are you doing here, Tall Hair Boy?  _

By the time Helga had made it home she had blown off most of her steam, like she knew she would.  It didn't really matter that Gerald was here, not in the long run.  But it did complicate things a bit.  She'd have to keep an eye out for him.  She gave a little sigh as she pulled into the driveway.

_Just don't get in my way this time, Geraldo.  I'd hate to have to kill you._

*************

"…so then it turned out that the owner of the dog was the man with the leaky roof!  So it all worked out after all!"

Gerald laughed.  "Stinky always said you lead a charmed life, Arnold."

"Yeah I guess so, sometimes.  When it comes to finding lost dogs at least."  Gerald could hear the smile in his best friend's voice.  He used his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear while he pulled on a pair of dark jeans.

"So tell me, when are you going to get out of there Arnold?  See the world and all that?  Probably save it too knowing you."

"I can't leave yet, Grandpa needs me at the boarding house."

"Arnold, your grandpa can still bench press 210 pounds at ninety-something years old."

"I know, but he doesn't do it as fast as he used to.  Besides, they'd miss me around here.  And I have lots of time to work on my paintings this way."

"Yeah, but-"

"I know, you're worried about me.  Don't be.  I'm happy.  I'll be ok Gerald.  Speaking of which how's the new job going for you?  Do you like living in New Jersey?"

"Um…"  Arnold knew that Gerald worked with the FBI, but obviously he didn't know exactly what he did.  Gerald had told him he needed a transfer to get away from Ginger, and that at least Arnold had understood perfectly, having met her a few times himself.

"Well let me put it this way Arnold.  Hillside City is a thrill a minute compared to this."

"Are you saying Hillside isn't a thrill a minute?"

"I haven't seen so much as a lost dog since I got here."

"Ouch.  Well, maybe it will get better once you get to know some people.  You know, maybe they can show you what they do around there for fun."

Gerald thought about the people at Ical Corporation.  _Oh yeah, the people around here are just a barrel of laughs.  He started to make a sarcastic remark to that effect when he remembered Helga._

"Actually Arnold, I already know someone here."

"That's great!"

"You know her too as a matter of fact."

"Huh?"  Gerald could tell Arnold didn't know Helga was here any more than he had.  "Who would I know in Jersey?"

"Used to know anyway.  You remember Helga Pataki?"

"_Helga's there?  You're kidding!"_

"Uh uh.  She's a shipping director for a company in the area.  I ran into her the other day."  _Never mind that she did nothing but threaten me.  "I guess she's doing pretty well.  Oh, and apparently she got married, too."_

Gerald took advantage of the silence on the other end of the line to put the phone down for a second.  He pulled on a black argyle sweater over his head and stole a glance in the mirror beside his bed.  _Well, I look like I work at Ical.  Not much else good I can say about this outfit.  He grimaced and picked up the phone again._

It was still quiet.  "Arnold?  Hello?"

"Uh, yeah sorry Gerald.  I'm here.  I guess I just got lost in thought for a moment.  You did say Helga was married, right?"

"Yep."

"Wow.  I mean, I guess she's the first of the gang to really get married, huh?"

"What about Nadine and Peapod Kid?"

"Well, besides them."

"Eugene and Sheena?"

"Yeah but everyone knew-"

"Don't forget Sid, his kid's due in November by the way.  I got the announcement yesterday."

"Yeah I heard about-"

"And didn't Curly marry some supermodel from-"

"Ok, ok, you've made your point.  I just can't see Helga being married, that's all.  Who's the guy?"

"Beats me, she kept her last name and I didn't ask.  I am, however, in continuous prayer for his soul."

Arnold snorted into the phone.  "Come on Gerald, she wasn't that bad."

_If you only knew.  "Whatever you say Arnold.  Listen I gotta go.  It's getting pretty late and one of us works for a living."_

"I'll have you know I'm getting up before noon tomorrow to help Grandpa patch the roof."

Gerald rolled his eyes.  "I have nothing to say to that Arnold."

He laughed.  "Ok, well think of me when you get up in the morning.  You have to be at work by what, six?"

"I'm hanging up now Arnold."

"I'm just kidding around.  Remember that next time you start to worry about me though, k?  I'll let you go."

"Right, right.  See ya later."

"See ya Gerald."

Gerald hung up the phone and wondered mildly if he was going to get any sleep tonight.  He had been working at Ical for a little over a week now and seen nothing more of Helga than an occasional glimpse in the hallways.  She always seemed to be going in the exact opposite direction of him.  His coworkers were at a loss to explain it ("She's usually all over the new guy." Joe had said.), but they hadn't grown up with Helga.  He knew she never did anything without a reason.  And he knew she always had a plan.  Whether it was something sinister or not was up for grabs at this point.

He took in a deep breath of the cool night air as he pocketed a few useful items and headed out the door.  _I always love the first night out.  There was almost no moon outside, which was perfect for what he had planned.  __Alright, Mrs. Pataki.__  Time to find out what you're planning.  And why you're hiding it from me._

A/N:  Miss Matched:  Yes, I'm afraid I read that series too.  They sort of hook you and don't let go, ya know?  Thanks for serious compliment!

Ok, so as long as the site holds up, the next chapter should be up next week.  And hopefully, the pace will pick up a bit, I realize it's a tad slow right now…anyhow, just a reminder that the more reviews I get, the quicker this will get updated…  :)


	4. In Which Mysteries Abound Freely

Chapter 3

In Which Mysteries Abound Freely

All office buildings look alike in the dead of night.  Blocks of steel and glass silhouetted against the night sky, their parking garages lit by the harsh artificial security lights.  The only signs of life are the occasional bored security guard making his rounds, and perhaps a dog barking from somewhere far off.  It is the silence that makes any such building seem so dead.  The complete, total and absolute silen—

_CRASH!_

Any such building, that is, except perhaps the offices of Ical Corporation.

***********

_This is not my night, thought Gerald as he picked himself up from the wreckage he had just caused.  He looked down at his feet to see what he had tripped over.  __I swear that trash can was not there this morning._

He shook his head and began cleaning up the mess by the dim light his pocket flashlight provided.  He had only been in Ical about 45 minutes, and had already knocked into a lunch cart, slammed into a door someone had left open, and fallen into a rather large potted tree in the lobby, narrowly escaping the notice of the building's sole security guard.  _If I didn't know better I'd say this place was amateurly booby trapped.  But that was ridiculous.  The fact that the office was so easy to break into gave evidence enough that there was nothing in here worth protecting.  Gerald had almost decided to give up and try back later, however.  __May as well have brought a bullhorn so I could shout "Gerald Johansson is coming!" to anyone else who might be here.  He finished putting the trash back and stood up._

He was finally on his floor.  His object in coming tonight had been twofold – first, figure out if anyone else was interested in coming to Ical after hours, and if possible who and why.  Second, snoop around Helga's office a bit to try and see what she was up to, if anything.  He'd already scared off anyone here, so that was out.  On the other hand, Helga's office was just a few feet away.  Gerald checked his watch with his flashlight.  _Still fifteen minutes before the guard checks out this floor.  Well, guess I could try and get one thing done before I leave then.  He headed – carefully – down the hall._

The cheap lock on Helga's door was easy enough to pick, and in just a few moments Gerald was shining his flashlight around in her office.  He hadn't really noticed it much the last time he was in here, and he took the opportunity now to check it out.  It was very neat, almost clinically so, which struck him as contrary to the Helga he remembered.  _But she's changed.  We all have.  There were no pictures of any family members or friends anywhere to be seen, in fact the only decoration was a print on the wall of a woman by a white building, which Gerald thought he recognized from some art class along the way.  He walked over to inspect her desk._

There was nothing on it worth noting.  He wondered if he should risk turning on her computer but decided not to try it tonight.  Instead he just went through her desk drawers.  The two top ones had a few office supplies in them, and the middle was empty.  _Well, this is turning out to be a productive night.  Gerald shook his head and pulled on the bottom drawer._

It was locked.  A few twists with a bit of wire remedied that.  He opened the drawer and looked with surprise at the mess inside.  There was paper everywhere in no apparent order, several notebooks in varying colors, a half-eaten bag of Fritos and what appeared to be a tiny pink teddy bear.  He looked at it.  It had on a pink bow that was really too big for it, and a scowl on its face that seemed oddly appropriate to Gerald.  He picked it up and immediately heard a voice in his head.

_"Come on Gerald, you can do it!"_

_"Cheeze it Pheebs, he's concentrating!"_

_"Cheesing."___

_Must have been High School.__  Phoebe and I had decided to get together – just as friends, we insisted – with Arnold, Lila, Helga and Harold for pizza and an evening at the arcade.  _

_"No way he can make that.  I'll bet you a dollar __Arnold__."_

_"No bet Harold, I'd just be taking your money."_

_"Oh yeah?"___

_"Quiet geekbaits!"___

_Helga and Harold, that one had been a shock.  After years of yelling at each other, out of the blue sophomore year they announced they were dating.  Not that they stopped yelling at each other, in fact it seemed to happen even more often than before.  But then I always suspected they enjoyed it far more than they let on.  Even when they broke up a year later they stayed good friends…which was more than could be said for say, Sid and Rhonda.  Now **that was a breakup.**_

_"Come on __Arnold__…"_

_"I said no."_

_"Guys, shh!__  I've almost got it!"_

_Come to think of it Lila wasn't there after all.  Arnold had tried to get her to come but she decided she had to study for that "oh so difficult test tomorrow", which would have scared Phoebe back home as well except that Helga and I put our foot…er, feet down.  I think __Arnold__ barely escaped the "I-just-like-you" speech again that time._

_"Got it!"___

_"You owe me a dollar Harold."_

_"Aw, man!"_

_I pulled out the bear and handed it proudly to Phoebe, who blushed lightly.  "Anyone else want to try?  I think you could still get that stuffed cat in the back."_

_Helga folded her arms and looked at Harold._

_"No way Helga, I'm no good at those claw things.  Besides, I just gave __Arnold__ my last dollar."_

_"I could try it if you really want something Helga."_

_"Listen Football Head, I don't need any favors from you, ok?  Just because my **boyfriend doesn't think I'm worth it—"**_

_"Yeah?__  Well maybe you're not, Madam Fortress Mommy!"_

_"Helga, you can have this bear if you like."  Phoebe, sensing a storm coming, handed her best friend the stuffed animal.  Harold stared at it._

_"That's the ugliest bear I've ever seen!" he said bluntly._

_I took a closer look at it.  It was small and pink, which was alright if you liked that sort of thing.  The problem was that whoever made the face obviously had no idea what a smile looked like.  The bear appeared to be scowling up at Helga._

_"It is true that the animal has an…unusual expression on it's face…though that's not why I gave it to her." Phoebe assured me quickly.  I didn't really mind.  At least now she wouldn't be looking at **that and thinking of me.**_

_"What are you people talking about?  It looks fine."  Helga gave us all a look that so perfectly matched the bear's it was all I could do not to burst out laughing._

_"Helga—"_

_"No, she's right Harold.  It just needs something…"  __Arnold__ reached up and pulled out one of the many pink ribbons Helga had strung through her blonde hair that night.  The action must have startled her as much as it did me, because she didn't slug him like I expected her to.  Instead she just watched as he tied a bow on the bear, making it look even more ridiculous to my eye._

_But Helga didn't seem to think so.  She just gave him a half-grin, stuffed the bear in her pocket and looped her arm through Harold's.  "Thanks Hair Boy.  Anyone up for air hockey?"_

_Heh__.__  Who knew she'd hang on to this thing?  Now this is more the Helga I know.  He put the bear back and surveyed the drawer with satisfaction, picking up what looked like the last piece of paper she had stuffed in it._

            It was a printout of an email she had sent, apparently put here to remind her to call the addressee.  Gerald didn't recognize the address she had sent it to.

PB—

            I know how much this venture means to you, but I have to recommend against it for right now.  Give me some time to tilt the odds in your direction first, and you'll have a much better chance of success.  Our mutual friend may have an idea of what is going on, and if that is the case then I will find out about it and take whatever actions are necessary to insure a profitable return.  Trust me on this one.  You know I will do whatever needs to be done.  I'll call you when I have more information.

                                    --H.

A sound from out in the hall made Gerald put back the paper and close the drawer so fast he almost slammed his finger in the desk as well.  He crouched by Helga's chair, checked his watch and stopped.  He still had four minutes before the guard was supposed to check this floor, and he knew this guard -- he might be late on his rounds, but never early.  Gerald held his breath and listened.

There.  A footstep.  Someone else was here.  Curious, he crept to the door and looked through the gap underneath.  No dice.  Whoever it was, they didn't want to be caught.  Either that or they simply had no need for oh, say a light at three in the morning.  He couldn't even see the bright sweeps of a flashlight being used.  _Oh that's wonderful.  Three minutes 'til the guard gets here, and this clown is blocking my exit!  He couldn't hear exactly where the person was outside, but didn't want to risk them seeing him leaving Helga's office._

Wait.  He heard the muffled steps suddenly become much clearer, and realized that he must have been hearing them on carpet before, and that they now had moved onto the linoleum.  _Which means he had to have been in a cubicle, since they and the offices are the only places with carpet around here, and I didn't hear a door close.  He tried to picture what was down the hall.  Phil's office was at the very end around the corner, then came the cubicles – Joe's, the weird lady with the sunglasses', what's-his-name's across the hall, and…__mine, Gerald thought lifting his head.  Suddenly he very much wanted to know what this person was doing._

The footsteps clicked past him and turned the corner towards the stairs.  Gerald noted that whoever it was, they were apparently much better at avoiding trash cans than he was.  He had two minutes before the guard arrived.  Quickly as possible without making a noise, Gerald opened Helga's door and slid into the hallway.  _Now what?  If he left by the side stairs, he might run into the other burglar.  But any minute now the guard would be coming up the main stairway.  He'd probably be better off ducking back into the office and hoping the guard only checked to see if it was locked.  __Or…___

He was never sure what made him do it, but instead of going back, Gerald went forward.  He entered his cubicle and did a quick check with his flashlight.  It didn't look like anything was amiss.  _At least I don't keep anything valuable in here.  Of course, I'm not even sure that creep was in this cubicle.  He thought about checking the others but realized that he wouldn't notice if anything was missing anyway._

Someone was coming!  Gerald dived for the only hiding place in sight – under his desk.  He moved his desk chair in front of him and waited for the guard to pass.  He heard footsteps again and then saw the faint outline of a shadow moving by the stairs.  But wait – this person didn't have a flashlight either.  Had the first intruder doubled back, or was this yet another unauthorized visitor?  _Who knew Ical was the place to be at three in the morning?_

The person in the hallway stopped for a moment, and Gerald realized he (she?  it?) was listening to the same sound Gerald was unconsciously hearing.  The guard, whistling aimlessly, was coming up the main stairs.  Gerald heard the person turn, hesitate, then walk…_right towards me!  Find your own hiding place, this one's taken, he thought indignantly.  _

The (second?) intruder must have read his mind, because suddenly he turned around again and ran off towards the side stairs.  Gerald let out a sigh of relief as the other person ran down the hall, turned the corner and—

_CRASH! "Agggh!"  ___

…slammed into a trash can.  A smug smile spread across Gerald's face.  He wanted more than anything to go see who else was sneaking around Ical, but even the deafest of guards will hear if you overturn a metal trash can 40 ft away from him.

"Hey!  Who's there?"

There was a mad scuffle of feet, the sound of a guard running and panting heavily, and then silence.

Well.  Gerald stood up.  That guard was going to be busy for a while.  Time enough to finish sorting through Helga's bottom drawer.

*************

_Ah, coffee.  Forget ambrosia, this is the true sustenance of the gods.  _

"…and these reports need to be proofread and distributed as well."  Gerald's boss dumped yet another pile of paperwork on his desk.  "You ok there Johansson?  You look a little down and out."

"I'm fine, thanks Mr. Briteon.  I'll have these ready as soon as I can."

"No hurry.  Just be sure they're out by the end of the day."  He turned to go.

"Yes sir."

Alone again in his cubicle, Gerald sipped on his fifth cup of coffee and tried once again to make sense of the world.  There had been no more incidents last night after the guard left (he must not have caught the burglar, because he seemed very disgruntled when he left), but Gerald was no closer to figuring out what was going on either.  Though he had read through every scrap of paper in Helga's drawer, none had made any more specific references to the "venture", "our mutual friend" or who "PB" might be.  Most of the notebooks had been empty, with large sections of pages torn out.  The few with writing in them were scribbled on so badly it was impossible to read what they had said.  _Even the Fritos were stale.  _

The only other object of interest to Gerald was a photo he had found at the very bottom of the pile.  It was only interesting to him because it was familiar – he had an exact copy at home in his apartment.  Everyone in the old gang had one.  It was a graduating class photo taken the last day of High School, of everyone from PS 118 except Sid, who had shot the picture.  That had been an odd day.  It was the only time he remembered Helga wearing a color other than pink.  Well, there was the Swiss Miss incident, but that had been her nanny's fault.  He smiled at the thought of Helga's eyes glaring at him from underneath a wreath of white flowers…heh heh.  Those were the days.  He wished he had a picture of _that._

But enough reminiscing.  Although Gerald had looked carefully through his things and found nothing out of the ordinary, the thought that someone might have been in his cubicle bothered him.  He had no way of knowing what they were looking for or what they had found.  He also didn't have a door to lock.  He could be careful about what kind of information he left in his desk, but he was still a bit worried about his computer.

This morning before work he had stopped at the FBI headquarters and picked up a little device that would relieve Gerald's mind some.  It was a keycatcher, a cylindrical memory device which would record every key typed on his computer.  If someone broke in and looked at his files, he would know about it by the next morning.  All he had to do was plug it into the back of his computer and he was all set.  Gerald knelt on the ground beside his computer tower and turned it around to do just that.  

There was only one slight problem.  A keycatcher was already in place.

A/N:  Heh, this chapter was going to be even longer, but I figured I've given you enough to think about for now.  Yes, there is such a thing as a keycatcher, you can buy them at most good computer stores.  If this chapter is confusing, let me know…I'm bad at explaining myself at times I know.  I think it's a genetic preference for keeping people guessing.  :)

Miss Matched:  Huh, what do you know, he did call her "Mrs. Pataki" didn't he?  How about that…

Haley:  Sorry, not much of Arnold in this chapter.  Sadly, he's not going to be around much for quite a while…but don't worry, when it comes time, you'll see him so much you'll get sick of him, lol.

Review please ya'll!  I can't become a better writer without your input.  The next chapter should be out pretty soon, probably next week sometime as this seems to be going pretty fast.  ~PJ


	5. In Which Gerald Fights the Evil Laser Pr...

Chapter 4

In Which Gerald Fights the Evil Laser Printer, Helga Plots, Arnold Paints, and Phoebe Finally Makes an Appearance

Gerald was not having a good day.  It had taken him three days to get to Simon and report on his experiences with Ical.  Simon's secretary had the apparent sole purpose in life of thwarting any attempts to speak with him.  For two days she had refused to make an appointment.  ("Is it an emergency?"  "No."  "Sorry, he's booked all day.")  On the third day, today, he had simply walked into his boss's office first thing in the morning, despite the secretary's cries.  He had found Simon practicing golf in front of his desk.

After a hasty explanation that he was testing a new golf-ball shaped camera, (to which Gerald smiled and nodded) Simon listened to Gerald's report.  He was, however, supremely unconcerned.  He dismissed the keycatcher, ("Probably upper management wants to know what internet sites you go to.") ignored Helga's suspicious email, ("You've got no names, and you obtained the information illegally.  We can't use it.") and flatly refused to run a criminal check on Helga Pataki.  ("Do you know how much that would cost?")  The only thing he thought was interesting at all was Gerald's story of the two extra intruders that night.

"Of course," he said, "We wouldn't have put you there if we didn't think there was something going on."

He told Gerald to try and discover their identities, something Gerald was already planning to do, and dismissed him.

"Try not to leap to conclusions." He advised as he showed him the door.

This was only the beginning of Gerald's day.  Once he had made it to Ical, mentally cursing Simon and his eye-twitch all the way, he was informed that the break room was completely out of coffee.  In desperation someone had mixed up some instant, but it was decaf, as Gerald soon discovered when Joe found him snoozing in his cubicle, face jammed into his keyboard.

_Well, at least that will give whoever checks this keycatcher a puzzle, Gerald had thought looking at the jumble of letters on his screen.  At which point Phil had dropped by with a huge stack of paperwork for him._

All this to say, Gerald was in no mood to be tackling the company laser printer.  But tackle it he must, as he needed 200 copies neatly printed of a report on splint faults.  (Which wasn't as interesting as it sounded.)

Gerald sent the report to the printer from his cubicle's computer, then got up and headed towards the media room.  He walked through the open doorway and approached the printer warily.  It was a mammoth thing leftover from the '80s with a bad temper to boot.  It was also the only semi-nice printer in the building.  And it did not like Gerald.

It was currently humming in much the same way that dragons snore, which Gerald took to be a good sign.  He moved to the (much nicer) copy machine and pretended to be doing something over there.  Hopefully the printer wouldn't realize it was printing a job for him until it was too late.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a red light begin to flash.  Drat.  After a few minutes he gave up hope that it would just blow over and went to investigate.  The printer was making gurgling sounds in the pit of its gullet somewhere.  On the status screen it screamed "ERROR 33" which was of no help at all since all the manuals had been lost years ago.  Gerald eyed the printer.  The printer eyed him back.  Gerald reached out a tentative finger and pressed the "Clear" button.  The printer hiccupped, spat out a few sheets of blank paper and turned on its "Paper Tray Empty" light.

Gerald opened the paper tray.  It was full.  _Liar.  He closed the tray, but the light didn't go off.  He tapped the tray lightly with his foot, and was rewarded with a slight mechanical sound from the printer.  Thus encouraged, Gerald tapped a few more times, then, getting into the spirit of the thing, hauled back and kicked the tray, hard._

The printer did nothing.  The tray, however, dented nicely.  _Great.__  And now my foot hurts.  He folded his arms and glared at the machine._

Suddenly for no apparent reason the printer cleared its error lights and began to print out a document.  Gerald blinked in surprise, let out a small whoop and grabbed one of the papers to inspect it.

INPORTS, USS _Revel, con._

BANDAGES, cotton

            500 crates, CA

SPLINTS, wood

            145 crates, NY

MORPHINE, canisters

            100 crates, NY

EXPORTS expected, USS _Cardinal IV_

COTTON SWABS

_This isn't my report, it's the shipping account, Gerald realized with a groan.  He turned his vengeful eyes upon the evil printer._

"I order you, by the evil computer demon Og…"

The printer clicked at him impatiently.

"Erm, and the even eviler printer demon, uh, Pog…"

The printer continued happily printing the shipping account.  Gerald lost what little temper (and, quite possibly, sanity) he had left.  He grabbed both sides of the machine and shook it wildly.

"Come out, come out come out, dang you, print, I say, print, print print, printprintprintprintpri—!"

"Ahem."

Gerald whirled around.  His boss was standing in the doorway, giving him a rather odd look.  Naturally.  _Should have remembered Murphy's law._

"Sorry Mr. Briteon.  I was having some problems with the printer."

Phil cocked his head at him.  "So I see.  And I assume you've attempted to fix the problem?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"How?" wondered Phil.

"Erm…by ignoring the problem and hoping it would go away?"

"Hm.  After which you of course tried a different method."

"I used…percussion therapy."

"Yes," said his boss looking at the dented paper tray, "I thought as much.  And did that work?"

"No."

"So you naturally decided an exorcism was in order?"

"It seemed the logical choice sir."

"Of course.  Well, I don't mind telling you, Johansson," Phil stepped towards the printer cautiously, "That so far you've gotten farther than I ever have with this thing.  Ah, it's printed my document instead.  Well, pages 3 through 11 at any rate."  He picked up the papers and thumbed through them.  "I should probably be satisfied with this.  I doubt I'll get anything better out of it."

The two of them had been standing around poking and prodding while the printer amused itself by occasionally turning various lights on and off for about twenty minutes when they were interrupted.  

"Alright, which of you idiots left a huge print job on the IE666 without bothering to print it off?"

Gerald and Phil both looked sheepishly at the newly arrived Helga.  She did not look pleased.

"Uh, that would be me, Helga.  Sorry." Gerald answered.

She looked at him in exasperation.  "And you just left it in memory?  This thing can't take that!  Plus now you've bogged down the whole network with rejected packets, I can barely get online!"

Gerald and Phil tried their best to look as though they completely understood the problem.  Helga took one look at their faces and rolled her eyes in a way that said plainly, "_Men."  She strode over to the printer, glanced at the error lights and pressed a button._

The printer positively purred as it began to print out Gerald's report.  He blinked.

"How did—" Helga's look cut him off, "I mean, thanks He—Mrs. Pataki."

"Don't mention it."  She left the room, calling over her shoulder, "And that paper tray's coming out of your salary, Johansson."

_That went a lot better than I expected, Gerald thought with relief.  Phil looked at him curiously.  "What?"_

"I thought she'd never talked to you before."

"She hasn't really.  Why?"

"Kind of odd that she knew your name.  She chooses to forget mine most of the time."

"Maybe she was in a good mood," said Gerald as casually as he could.

"Could be.  I'd better get this back to the office."  Phil gathered his things and headed out.

When the printer had finished, (Gerald felt that it did it grudgingly, but it did finish) Gerald picked up his report and left, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with the media room again today.  He was thinking about the puzzle that was Helga, which probably explains how he ended up in front of her office instead of stopping at his cubicle like he intended.  When he saw where he was, he turned to go back but paused at hearing her voice.

She was on the phone with someone, and she wasn't yelling.  That in itself told Gerald that this was something he wanted to hear.  He pretended to be looking for something in his report absent mindedly, while standing as near to her cracked open door as he could without being seen.

"…alright then, let's do it tonight," she was saying.  "No, I don't think so.  I won't be able to make it until late…sure midnight will be fine.  How about the back lot of the supermarket?  Skaters usually stick to the front…yeah I know.  Don't worry about me, I've got it under control."  She laughed, which startled Gerald.  _I haven't heard her laugh since I got here, he realized.  "Oh yes, always.  See you then."  She hung up the phone and Gerald walked back to his cubicle with a smile on his face._

_Sounds like I've got a date tonight._

*************

When Arnold woke up, for a moment he was nine again.

The clouds through his skylight looked like a group of clipper ships, and he imagined them bringing spices through the vast oceans, braving storms and pirates along the way.  He smiled, half-awake, and wondered if the new Evil Twin movie was out yet, and if Gerald would be able to go see it with him after school.  At the thought of school he sat up, which had the effect of waking him completely.  

His room hadn't changed that much since he had been nine.  The remote controlled lights, stereo and couch were all still there.  His alarm clock still called "Hey Arnold!" on those rare occasions that he set it nowdays.  He had upgraded his computer but it still rested in the same spot on his desk.  The main difference however, the one that reminded him of his age every morning, was his paintings.

They were everywhere.  Leaning against his desk, hung on all the walls, stacked in his closet.  There were paintings of people he knew, favorite buildings in the city, dreams he had had, and a hundred other things.  His floor was one huge white tarp, splashed with every color imaginable.  In the center of the room was a medium-sized easel, though lately he had been doing most of his work on a much larger one on the roof.  He had always felt inspired up there.

Arnold ran his fingers through his pillow hair and looked at his clock.  It was noon.  _So much for breakfast.  He didn't have to be at Mrs. Vitello's until three o'clock, so he got up, yawned and threw on some of the clothes he had lying beside the bed.  He rubbed his eyes and climbed up to look at the painting he had started last night._

It was supposed to be a wheat field under an open sky, blown about by a prairie wind.  At least, that was what he was thinking when he had started it.  Now, however, it just looked like Arnie's backyard, which was not a pleasant thought.  Lila and Arnie had married their senior year of high school.  Arnold had known it was coming ever since Lila told him she thought he was her "oh-so-special-someone" at the end of their junior year, but everyone had expected them to finish school first.  However, when Arnie's dad died unexpectedly leaving him the farm, they decided to drop out and get married right away so they wouldn't risk losing it.  Arnold had taken it…ok.  He had still felt something for Lila then, and if he was honest with himself he knew he still did now.  But he knew Arnie made her happy, and so he hadn't done anything to try and make her stay.

Well, not much of anything.  He had told her how he felt, the last day she was in school.  But she left anyway.  He had told her, then, that he understood.  And he did, sort of.  Arnie could give her what he never could – a life back on a farm like the one she grew up on.  Arnold had stayed in the city, gone to college, moved on with his life.  He wasn't heartbroken.  Not much.

Arnold grabbed some white base and began to paint over what he had done last night so he could reuse the canvas.  This idea obviously wasn't going anywhere he wanted to be.  He heard the faint sounds of someone calling his name, so he stuck his head back in his room.

"What was that, Grandma?"

"Colonel Mustard, you come down here and eat something, it's not poison you know!  And your friend Miss Scarlet is here to see you!"

Arnold tried to imagine who "Miss Scarlet" might be but came up blank.

"Who, Grandma?"

"Miss Scarlet.  In the lobby.  With a candlestick."

That wasn't much more help, but Arnold suddenly remembered that Phoebe was supposed to come over for lunch today.  He slapped his forehead and yelled, "Ok, I'll be right there!"

Arnold quickly put the lid back on the base, changed his shirt to one that didn't have a huge stain on it, and tumbled down the stairs while simultaneously trying to do something with his hair.

Phoebe was sitting in the dining room waiting for him, but she stood when he came in.  Arnold took in her as-always neat appearance in her deep purple suit, her cropped hair nicely in place around her petite flawless face.  He half-smiled and gestured towards his own rather sloppy outfit.

"I'm a horrible friend, Pheebs, I forgot totally that you were coming.  I haven't even taken a shower yet."

Phoebe's dark almond eyes twinkled behind her glasses.  "Arnold, you never remember.  That's why we always meet at your place."

"One of these times I am going to remember.  I'll pick you up at work at you'll die of shock."

"I'll look forward to it.  Come on, let's go."

"But –"

"I don't have time for you to take a shower, I only have a 45 minute lunch break, you know.  So as long as you're not wilting my salad I think I can stand you unwashed.  If you don't mind, that is."  She laughed.

Arnold shrugged and grinned.  "Just remember you asked for it."

A few minutes later they were sitting at their favorite café, watching the pigeons as they waited for their food.

"So how are things at work?" Arnold asked.

"Good.  Very good, actually, that's one of the reasons I wanted to have lunch with you today."

"Why what's up?"

"The lab has just been awarded the Viksten Science and Technology Grant they've been trying for.  So…"

"Pheebs!  You got your promotion?"

Phoebe smiled and blushed slightly.  "You're looking at the new Co-Director of Research.  I get my own office, finally no more sharing with the other researchers.  Plus I have the whole lab at my disposal and the top level to devote solely to my projects.  Arnold do you realize what this means?!" Phoebe suddenly stopped her calm charade and waved her hands in the air, almost unbalancing the waiter bringing their food.  "I could spend the whole day studying quarks without some supervisor breathing down my neck asking why I haven't invented a better toilet paper!  I can refresh my knowledge of Quantum Psychics and discover new laws and never clock my time!  I never have to say the word "sir" again!!"  She took a deep breath, face shining.

"That's wonderful Phoebe!  If I had the money I'd buy you a glass of champagne.  On second thought, what's money?  Waiter!  Two glasses of champagne for me the soon-to-be-world-famous doctor here!"

"Ok Arnold, but I'm paying." Phoebe insisted.

"Oh good," Arnold looked sheepish, "Because I just realized I only have five bucks in my pocket."

"Arnold!" Phoebe pretended to be insulted, "Is that any way to treat a lady?"

"Obviously, I wouldn't know."  He shook his head and shrugged, which made Phoebe suddenly frown at him.

"You know, you really need to get out there more Arnold.  When was the last time you had a date?"

"Oh, about the same time I had a full-time job."

"Arnold—"

"Don't worry about me Pheebs, I'm fine, really.  I just haven't found someone I'm really interested in, that's all.  You sound like Gerald."

"Well, that's what best friends are for Arnold.  To worry about each other."  Phoebe paused for a moment, then added, "I miss Helga."

Arnold seemed surprised.  "You mean you haven't been talking to her?  I thought you guys kept in touch."

"Oh, well, yes.  I mean, we do.  It's just that…well, she's been really busy lately with work and everything and I just haven't heard from her in…a few days."  Phoebe said quickly.  _Or a few months, she thought._

"I know how that can be.  I called Gerald a few days ago but I haven't heard from him since.  Sometimes I think he _is the FBI, if you know what I mean."_

Phoebe's face softened a little, and they were silent for a while, eating.  Then she asked, "How is he doing?  Didn't you say he moved?"

"Yeah he was transferred to New Jersey.  Hey, actually he saw Helga there, so I guess they live in the same area now.  Do you know, I am so out of the loop I hadn't even heard she was married?"

Phoebe's fork stopped half-way to her mouth.  She stared at Arnold.

Arnold hung his head a bit.  "I know, I'm a horrible friend huh?  Still, it must have been a pretty small wedding.  I don't even remember anyone mentioning getting an invitation or anything."

Phoebe finished her bite of salad and put her fork down.  She took a last sip of her champagne and smiled at Arnold.  "I believe it was quite a diminutive ceremony."  _Stop it Pheebs, he's going to know something's wrong if you start talking like a dictionary.  "Nothing to be concerned about missing.  Excuse me though Arnold, I'm afraid I must return to the lab.  My promotion isn't official until next Friday and I must resume testing fabric softeners."  She waved down a waiter, paid for the bill and left before Arnold thought to ask her who Helga had married._

_Not that it would have done him any good to ask, thought Phoebe fiercely as she made her way back to work.  __The last I heard, Helga was living in __Virginia__.  And single._

*********

The skaters who mainly kept to the front of the supermarket parking lot had not even bothered to show up tonight, which was perfect for the people planning on meeting in the back lot.  And for the person planning on watching them.

Gerald was dressed in his dark "I-work-at-Ical-and-would-never-dream-of-spying-on-you" outfit again, crouched in some convenient bushes near the building.  It was 11:55, and no one had shown up yet.  _Why aren't evil plotting people ever early?_

He shifted position.  One of the most tedious jobs in the world was surveillance when there was nothing to see.  Gerald hoped they would show up soon or his butt was going to fall asleep.  Or else he would.  He still hadn't had much coffee today, though he did manage a nap between work and coming here.

11:57.  Was this even the right parking lot?  He tried to remember if there were any other supermarkets in the area, but came up with nothing.

11:58.  Did the mini-store at the gas station count?  He'd never seen any skaters there but it did have a back lot.

11:59.  _If__ they don't show up by __midnight__, I'll try the other place._

12:00.  Gerald waited another minute just to be sure.

12:01.  _Maybe__ one more minute._

12:02.  _That's__ it.  Gerald got up._

"Freeze, scumbag," said a female voice.  He froze.  Someone walked up behind him and pressed what felt like a gun to his back, pushing him into the glare of the parking lot lights.

"Hands up."  Gerald held up his hands and turned his head slightly towards the lights.  The person behind him took in a sudden breath of air.

"Gerald?"  He didn't answer.

"Turn around," the voice commanded.  He did, and his captor stepped into the light.  Gerald blinked.  

It wasn't Helga.

A/N:  Heh, sorry for the super long chapter folks.  Got a bit carried away there I think.  BTW, sorry for those who asked for more, but "The Accomplice" is not going to continue.  I like the ending too much to change it.  :)  My apologies.

Haley:  I rather enjoy writing Gerald, he amuses me.  As does Grandpa, I might do a chapter fic on him later…but it would be very different from this.  I doubt very much that Grandpa can stay serious for more than a few paragraphs at a time.  Oh, and I threw you an Arnold-shaped bone in this chapter, hope you enjoyed it.

Helga Pataki:  Good!  I want to know what happens next too, certain characters aren't telling me all their secrets, how dare they.  grin

Ann Onamous:  Every time I write a line I really enjoy, I think "Hm.  I wonder if Ann will like this one!"  lol, keep telling me when you do!

Solid Munch:  You're right.  I don't think Helga's that bad either, frankly.  But I do think that everything she does, she does for a reason.  Just a thought.  Glad you're enjoying it otherwise.

Miss Matched:  *accepts the kudos graciously, and hopes it's chocolate*  

Pokey:  Thank you.  Much obliged.  :)

Jennavette:  Different is good.  Creative is better.  Impressive is awesome.  :)  Many thanks.

Maxine:  I believe your question will be answered in the next chapter.  Hm, both of them actually.  Glad you're enjoying it, thanks!

**Speaking of the next chapter…it should be out next week sometime…but, I am going out of town on the 1st.  This means either a) the next chapter and/or the next will be a few days late or b) the next couple of chapters will be up really really fast since I'll be bored silly and suddenly have a cable modem.  Keep your fingers crossed, ya'll.  ~PJ**


	6. In Which Questions Are Answered. Some o...

Chapter 5

In Which Questions Are Answered.  Some of Them Anyway.

It wasn't Helga.

As a matter of fact, it wasn't anyone Gerald remembered ever meeting before.  His captor was a very tall, very skinny brunette with a rather pinched looking nose.  She was looking down it at him in a way that made Gerald want to sink into the ground as quickly as possible.  Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in sensible slacks and a brown blouse.  Despite the fact that this made her look like a librarian, she appeared to be very comfortable with the gun she was pointing at Gerald.  As he wrestled with this apparent contradiction in his mind, the woman relaxed slightly and the barrel of the gun tilted just a bit more towards the ground.

That was enough for Gerald.  With a quick upwards kick, the woman's weapon went flying through the air, and as she instinctively dived after it, Gerald ran.

There aren't a lot of places to hide in a parking lot, so he swerved quickly back towards the bushes, trying to make his way in a zig-zag pattern towards the front of the store.  A warning shot rang out over his head, and he could hear shouting behind him though he couldn't quite make out what she was saying.  He was certain he didn't want to stick around and find out however, so he put on an extra burst of speed just as he got to the corner of the building…

_Wham!!_

…which, as he probably should have figured out by now, is never a good idea.  Suddenly Gerald found himself on his back, staring at the night sky and in considerable pain.  He had a gut feeling that he knew what had happened before he even sat up to see…

"Helga."

"Gerald??"  She was quite a bit more surprised to see him than he was her, and he saw with some satisfaction that she looked like she was in pain also.  Resignedly, he watched as her eyes traveled over his shoulder and became very, very wide.  The _click of a gun being cocked behind him was almost expected.  __Wonder what my tombstone will say?  "Gunned down for being an idiot and forgetting basic training", if the Agency has anything to do with it.  I can't believe I just stood up like that.  This whole thing must have been an ambush, and I'm just the moron to fall for it.  Maybe now Simon will take my suspicions about Helga seriously.  Not that it will do me much good at this point._

The woman, now slightly out of breath, spoke a bit more forcefully than before.  "Get up, Johansson.  Hands in the air, and don't even think about trying any other cute tricks."

Gerald found that he could move, albeit painfully, and began getting up slowly.  He didn't want to look at Helga, didn't want her gloating face to be the last thing he ever saw.  Instead he made himself look behind her into the empty front lot.  He could feel a knot of fear curling in his stomach.  _I'm going to die.  Just a few minutes and…don't think about it Gerald, just don't think.  There's got to be a way out of this, there has to be.  Maybe I can use Helga as a hostage.  Naw, library-lady would blow me away before I could turn her around.  Maybe…oh come on Gerald, you've got nothing.  Maybe your guardian angel will choose this moment to show up, for crying out loud._

What was odd about this thought was that as soon as he finished it, Gerald saw, or imagined he saw, a sliver of a shadow in the darkness in front of him.  He kept staring at it.  Even if it wasn't an angel it was at least something to look at rather than Helga, something to keep his mind off the gun at his back…now the shadow seemed a bit more solid.  _What if someone's really there?  His next thought was to distract his captor so that she wouldn't notice…well, whatever there was to notice, if anything.  As he tried to think of a way to do this without getting shot, a human form began to materialize out of the shadow.  A human form moving quickly towards them.  __Say something Gerald!  "Um, hey listen…" he started.  Then he got a better look at the person hurrying towards them and his words caught in his throat.  _

"Moria!" called the person.

_Funny, I never imagined my guardian angel with an eye twitch._

Simon finished running up to them and, panting slightly, pulled out a gun from beneath his jacket.  "Moria, if you intend to shoot one of my agents then I must insist on an eye for an eye."  And he pointed it at a rather startled Helga.

There was a very tense moment.  Helga didn't seem to be breathing.  Gerald was involuntarily staring at her, trying to will his eyes to move.  The woman he supposed was Moria kept her gun pressed firmly at the nape of his neck.  Simon's eye twitched rapidly, but his gun didn't shake a bit.

Then, without warning, Moria laughed.  Hard.  _She's cracking up, Gerald thought, and from the look on Helga's face she was thinking the same thing.  But before either of them could figure out what was happening, Simon started laughing as well.  In a matter of seconds, both Simon and Moria had put away their weapons and were close to hysterical, holding onto each other for support.  Gerald rubbed the back of his neck and frowned at them.  __What's this about?  Why are they acting like old friends all the sudden?_

"Care to tell us why you two are acting like old friends all the sudden?" asked Helga grumpily as she struggled to get up.  Gerald blinked at her.

Moria stopped laughing long enough to wipe a few tears from her eyes.  "Well I don't know about _old, Ms. Pataki, but Simon and I are—"_

"Acquaintances," Simon put in quickly.  "Business associates, really."  He glanced at Moria and she let go of him abruptly.

"Yes, well.  We do run into each other from time to time in the workplace, yes." she responded, and became once again severely business-like.  Simon was frowning at Gerald, and to look at Moria and him, one never would have guessed that they even were capable of laughter, much less hysterical with it.  Gerald chose not to deal with Simon's frown right now, turning instead to Moria.

"Who," he asked with feeling, "_are you?"_

She looked surprised that he didn't know.  "Moria Bellings, head field director of anti-terrorism."

Gerald shook his head stubbornly.  "No, you're not."

"I beg your pardon?"

He pointed at Simon.  "_He is the head field director of anti-terrorism."_

Moria didn't seem to see the problem.  "Yes of course he is," she said.

This, somehow, didn't help Gerald.

Simon made a disgruntled noise.  "Johansson, what part of _joint-effort don't you understand?  Anti-terrorism isn't just FBI, you know."_

Something in Gerald's brain finally clicked.  "You mean she," he gestured towards Moria, "is with the CIA?"  Simon and Moria both nodded.

"So that means…"  Gerald looked at Helga.  "You're a _CIA agent?"_

Helga had a trademark smirk on her face.  "Right in one, bucko."

Gerald attempted to process this information while Moria talked.  "Ms. Pataki has been scoping out Ical Corporation for the past six months as part of a gathering of information in similar companies around the area.  We had heard some tall tales about biological weapons being smuggled, and after 9-11 there's no such thing as too careful.  But when several reliable sources confirmed that there was some kind of smuggling activity going on -- in at least one of three companies including Ical -- suddenly the tales suffered quite a growth reduction.  We felt she needed backup."

"That's where you came in."  Simon informed Gerald.  "I thought a fresh face, someone who hadn't been there and had a new perspective on things might be helpful.  You might catch something she wouldn't normally notice, and you could hear what lower employees talked about that they might never say to a boss.  We also didn't want to chance alerting anyone to our presence, so the idea was to not even tell the two of you your real identities.  If one of you was discovered, you could never tell anyone that the other was there."

"One from FBI, one from CIA, newer people to the force who wouldn't recognize each other."  Moria continued, "However, someone," Simon and her both looked accusingly at each other, "didn't do their homework and compare the files thoroughly enough.  We knew Ms. Pataki was from Virginia and Mr. Johansson from DC…we had no idea you grew up together in…where was it?"

"Hillside.  You wouldn't have heard of it." put in Helga.  "So what you're saying is that since of course we were suspicious of each other, you decided it would be better if we knew the whole story?"

"Well yes, basically.  You needed to focus your energy elsewhere, and we were getting tired of covering for you."

"Criminal checks," grumbled Simon.

"Panicked 3am phone calls, honestly!" Moria shook at finger at Helga then turned on Gerald.  "And I was running out of plausible excuses for your behavior, young man!"

"Moria, allow me the responsibility of chastising my own employees, please."  Simon cocked an eyebrow at her.  "By the way, why were you threatening Johansson?  You had his picture, surely you identified him."

"Of course I did.  I was only doing what you should have done."

"Are you implying I should make a habit of shooting my agents?"

"_Really, Simon.  I meant that obviously he had no grasp of simple surveillance procedure.  I was standing right behind him and he never even noticed until I pressed a gun in his back.  I thought he was a drug dealer or something, hiding in the bushes so obviously like that."_

Simon bristled.  "All FBI agents are firmly grounded in the techniques necessary to check out an area before attending a scheduled meeting.  Why Johansson failed to do this," he said glaring in Gerald's direction, "is another question entirely."

Gerald's brain had finally caught up to the conversation.  "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute here.  What do you mean, 'scheduled meeting'?"

Helga gave him a strange look.  "If you didn't know about the meeting, why are you here?"

"Of course he knew about the meeting."

"No, I didn't.  Well at least I didn't know I was part of it."

"What?"  Simon looked confused.  "But I gave my secretary express instructions to tell you to come!"

Moria snorted.  "Say no more Gerald dear, I completely understand.  Simon's secretary doesn't have two brain cells to rub together."

"Veronica is perfectly capable—"

"Oh please.  You must admit she's a few fries short of a Happy Meal."

"She is not—"

"Elevator doesn't quite reach the top floor?"

"Moria—"

"Lights are on, but nobody's home."

"One of these—"

"The wheel's spinning, but the hamster's dead," Moria recited happily, suddenly quite relaxed.  "I've got more if that doesn't get the point across."  Simon glowered at her, but quit arguing.

"Perhaps," he said, scowling, "I'll have a word with her in the morning."  Fortunately he missed Moria winking at Gerald.  "However, fascinating as this all is, I for one am going to bed.  You two," he pointed at Gerald and Helga, "need to meet up tomorrow and compare notes.  Now that you know you're both working on the same team, you might as well help each other out.  Now, if you'll excuse me."  He nodded at them and left, and within a few minutes the rest of them had departed also, leaving an empty parking lot overlooked by an increasingly lighter sky.

***********

Early the next morning, Helga was in her apartment, absently stirring her tea and staring out the window at the sunrise.

She never drank coffee, but when she was younger and had stayed over at Phoebe's, often tea was the only thing to drink at dinner.  Helga had found she could stomach it as long as she drowned it in cream and sugar.  However, before long she was hooked.  Now she could hardly get through a morning without a nice, steaming mug of Earl Gray.  That and the sunrise would have made her feel quite poetic if she didn't have other things on her mind.

She was ready for work, though she didn't need to leave for another 45 minutes.  Usually she was scrambling to get to work on time – Helga was never considered a morning person.  Today though, she just couldn't sleep.  Better to get up than to toss and turn in bed for another hour.  She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes while she thought.

So, Gerald was with the FBI.  That certainly explained a lot.  Why her office had been searched.  Why he was sneaking around Ical in the middle of the night.  No wonder Moria had laughed at her slightly-hysterical phone call that night.  _Typical, Helga.__  And you thought you'd grow out of your over-reacting stage._

She opened her eyes at a sound from the kitchen.  She glanced in that direction but it was just the settling of a cabinet.  _I really should get a cat or something alive in here.  Then again, she had never been much of an animal person.  __Well a plant, at least.  _

Her apartment was pretty bare.  Of course, she'd only been living there for six months, but most girls would have at least made an attempt at decoration by now.  Helga sat back in the lone chair at the plain round table and rubbed her temples.  Her tea was getting cold.  She took another sip and wondered if she should bother buying another chair.

It wasn't that she didn't have the money.  Both of her current jobs paid fairly decently, and if she got in a jam she could usually find a way to wrangle a loan out of Big Bob.  Then again that was the last thing she wanted to do.  One of the main attractions of the CIA was the opportunity to leave Hillside for good, and get far away from her family.  She had been plotting someway to get out for as long as she could remember, but she remembered her last day in the Pataki house very clearly.  For some reason, she had cried.  None of the scenes she had played out in her mind had actually happened.  She hadn't stormed out declaring she never wanted to see them again.  She hadn't slipped out the door without anyone noticing.  She had hugged her mom goodbye, and mumbled something about visiting soon.  Bob had actually gotten her name right.  And for some inexplicable reason she had given Olga her cell phone number.

But other than those more-frequent-than-she-might-have-liked phone conversations, Helga didn't see much of the old gang.  She was busy at work, especially now, and it was always awkward to not be able to tell people how her job was going.  She hadn't told anyone that she even worked for the CIA, much less the anti-terrorism division.  Gerald was the first to find out…her family didn't know, Phoebe didn't, Rhonda didn't—

_Phoebe?  Helga lifted her head and her brow furrowed.  __When was the last time I talked to Phoebe?  She remembered an email from her a while ago…had she responded?  __No, she decided, __because my landlady was giving me trouble about getting the sink fixed and I was trying to get that taken care of so I put it off…  But that had been in her old apartment, in Virginia.  Which meant—_

"Criminy!"  Helga practically ran to her computer.  _She doesn't even know I've moved!  She set to work composing her much-overdue email, and made sure she included her cell phone number.  __She can call me, we'll have a nice long conversation and that will make up for it._

After what seemed like only a few minutes of frantic typing, Helga glanced at the clock.  _Cripes!  I'm gonna be late for work!  She sent the email, grabbed her things and dashed out to her car._

*************

Gerald had figured that he and Helga's meeting that evening would be awkward.  After all, they hadn't seen each other in however many years, then they met and each thought the other was up to something…and now they're supposed to work together?  How exactly were they going to manage that?

Fortunately they didn't really see each other during the day.  At work they usually moved in different circles anyway, so it was an easy matter to act like nothing had happened.  Indeed, when Gerald saw her briefly in the hallway he had trouble remembering that something _had happened, as her scowl at him was exactly the same as it had always been.  He had thought vaguely that maybe he should pinch himself or something._

However, when he showed up behind the abandoned merry-go-round near the park, there she was, waiting for him.  And, oddly enough, the first thing she did was smile.

Of course, she was smiling because she was about to make fun of his "I-work-for-Ical-and-didn't-grow-up-with-Helga-G.-Pataki" outfit, (more argyle) but still it was a start.  She had established bluntly the fact that even though he worked for the FBI, she felt no need to be nice to him.  He had responded in kind, and they had got to work.

Actually, it wasn't awkward at all.  Once they got past the idea that they were being forced to work together, both of them had gone into "plotting mode".  It had always happened that way growing up – no matter how much they had tortured each other that day, they could always put their differences aside to work on a plan, be it baseball strategies, new teacher pranks, or driving the occasional runaway bus.  Gerald half-smiled at that thought.  _The things we did…man, pulling Helga out of that wrecked bus – I wasn't sure **I was alive, much less her…**_

"Earth to Geraldo."  Helga waved her hand in front of his face.

Gerald shook his head.  "What was that?"

"We were trying to make sure all the suspicious things we've seen over the past few weeks were just…Gerald!" she said abruptly, "Pay attention!"

"I'm here.  I was just thinking about the time we drove that city bus in fourth grade.  I couldn't reach the pedals, remember?"

"I remember crashing.  I closed my eyes and thought I was going to die.  Next thing I know, I open my eyes and Arnold's helping me out of the bus window."

"Actually, that was me."

"Was it?"  Helga frowned.

"Sure.  Remember?  You asked me if we were alive, and I said—"

"You said you weren't sure yet.  That's right.  Arnold was too busy trying to save the neighborhood to think about…anything else."  Helga went back to flipping through her notes, head down.

"You know, you never told me why you were—"

"Listen, Tall Hair Boy.  Great as all this reminiscing is, don't we have a job to do?"

Gerald blinked, then switched gears.  "Who's PB?"

Helga looked confused.  "Who?"

"PB.  You emailed them about a 'venture'?"

"It was you who went through my office then." she said with an annoyed tone.

"You went in my cubicle."

"I'm your boss.  I can go in your cubicle any time I want to."

"You're avoiding the question."

Helga rolled her eyes.  "You mean you didn't guess?"

_Helga, thought Gerald, __has a way of making you feel stupid just because you can't read her mind.  He shook his head no._

"It's Harold.  I was using his business email address, and his boss has an annoying tendency to read incoming emails.  He's been trying to get up the nerve to propose to Rhonda for months, I was trying to help him out.  As a matter of fact," she checked her watch, "He's probably asking her right now."

"How does that fit with PB?"

"You know.  Short for Pink Boy."

"Oh."  _Now I really do feel stupid._

"My turn to ask something.  Does the FBI really train you that badly, or is it just your own special touch?"

Gerald narrowed his eyes at her.  "Helga, I thought we agreed to be civil."

"Oh come on, Geraldo.  When I came up the hall and saw you hiding under your desk…?  If I hadn't purposefully overturned that trashcan the guard would have caught you for sure.  Then that would have spooked you and I might never have figured out what you were up to.  At least that was my thought at the time."

"I didn't have any other choice.  I was trying to find out what you had done to my cubicle."

"I hadn't even gone in your cubicle yet.  I was just in the area."

"Without a flashlight?" Gerald recalled.

"I had nightvision goggles on.  Guess the CIA hasn't been hit with as many budget cuts as the FBI lately." she added, noting his jealous look.

Gerald chose to ignore this comment.  "So was there a third burglar or not?"

"I'm not sure.  I didn't see anyone else.  It's possible that you just heard me coming off the stairs into the hall, rather than someone leaving a cubicle."

"Maybe."  Gerald suddenly thought of something else he'd been wanting to ask.  "Who are you married to, by the way?"

This took Helga by surprise.  "Married?  I'm not married."

"But they call you 'Mrs.'"

Her face cleared.  "Oh that.  Would you want to be a single gal in that office?  It holds off all but the most determined jerks."

Gerald nodded.  _Of course, your personality probably helps._

"Of course, my personality probably helps."  Helga laughed ruefully.  

Gerald blinked.  _Stop doing that!_

A cell phone rang, which sounded strange in the deserted area of the park they were in.  Helga held up a finger and answered it.

"Hello?"  Beat.  "Pheebs, hey listen, can I call you back?  I'm sort of—"  But she was cut off by a series of squeaks that even Gerald could hear.  He couldn't make any sense out of them however, and apparently Helga was having the same problem.

"What?  Phoebe, what the--  No I don't know what you're talking about!  Calm down and…"  Helga frowned in confusion as the squeaks carried on for a while.  Finally she interrupted.  "Thanks for the update, but I fail to see what Curly or any supermodel has to do with—"  More squeaks.  "What ceremony?  _I didn't marry a super—"  The squeaks actually got louder, something Gerald hadn't thought possible.  "I didn't marry anyone Pheebs!  Why would…"  Suddenly Helga looked at Gerald.  "Wait Pheebs, I think I just figured this out."  She covered the receiver with one hand._

"You wouldn't, by any chance, have told anyone I was married, now would you Geraldo?"

************

Gerald kicked off his shoes, flopped on his bed and sighed.  _Well, back to square one.  Other than a suspicion that there might have been someone else in the building that one night, Helga and he had uncovered nothing unusual that couldn't be explained away._

He pulled a blanket over him without bothering to get undressed.  It wouldn't be so bad working with Helga.  They knew each other which was always an advantage in a partnership.  It would be like plotting in the old days.  And he had been missing his daily dose of sarcasm ever since he left Hillside for college.  He was a bit rusty, but soon he'd be up to handling even Helga's sharp tongue.  They had decided to keep pretending they didn't know each other well at the office, which meant he would have ample opportunity to berate her right back every time she made a snide remark in his direction.  It helped to know she couldn't really fire him.

_Still, he thought as he drifted into unconsciousness, __it seems like I'm missing something…something important…  He slept, and when he woke he couldn't remember what he was thinking about the night before._

A/N:  Whew, that chapter was a pain in the butt to write, I needed to explain way too many things.  Anyway, hope that wasn't too confusing, let me know if you need further explanation on anything and I will try my best to help.  Sorry this took so long to post, first I was sick and then I was on vacation, so through a combination of no fun and too much fun I didn't get around to writing.  For my penance, I shall attempt to finish the next chapter by the end of this week, possibly sooner if I can get my act together.  :)

cc17:  This chapter was all talk talk talk, not too exciting, sorry.  I promise later chapters have more action, grin

Mookie:  Congrats on the Helga/marriage/lack thereof thing!  I was wondering if anyone would question that!  So, any other brilliant deductions?  :)

Miss Matched:  Ahh…chocolate…the cure for strep throat…well in my world it would be anyway.  Thanks muchly.

brianaluvsfutballhead:  Why thank you!  Yes, Curly of course married a model, who else?  :)  I might put the story in here later, we'll see if it fits in.

DropsofJupiter:  Thank you, I do feel much better.  I made someone laugh!!!!  Yay!!!  My supreme apologies for not putting "Arnold the Arteest" in this chapter, but I'm afraid he's not going to fit in again for quite a while.  But he will be back.  I promise. 


	7. In Which the Title of This Fic Actually ...

Chapter 6

In Which the Title of This Fic Actually Comes Into Play

"…is thinking outside the cubicle!  Everyone, put on your dancing feet and follow me into a world of creativity!"

_What a throw pillow.  Helga resisted the urge to yawn.  She was supposed to be setting a good example by paying "rapt attention to our guest speaker", as the CEO had put it, but increasingly the only example she wanted to make was __of the guest speaker.  She thought the employees of Ical would pay much more attention if the his head were stuck on a pole.  Or perhaps a barbeque spit._

The entire work force of Ical was stuffed into the basement this afternoon because the CEO had suddenly decided that they weren't "happy enough."  Instead of attributing this to Ical's less-than-average wages, he opted to bring in a motivational speaker.  So rather than getting any work done, for an agonizing three hours they were expected to sit on uncomfortable folding chairs in a room with no windows listening to why they should be happy.  Helga had attempted to keep herself awake by stabbing her pen into her thigh at random intervals.  She had a sneaking suspicion that the two guys sitting behind her were taking bets on how many minutes she allowed between stabs.

"Look at the rainbows!  Listen to the birds!"  Helga's mind began to wander.

She was getting frustrated, not only with her job at Ical but also with her current CIA assignment.  It had been over a week since her and Gerald had teamed up, and still they hadn't made any progress.  Moria had really started getting on her back about it.

"This is a simple thing to do!" she had burst out angrily just that morning, "I have three agents in three companies.  One of these companies is smuggling.  Find out which one!  Would you mind explaining to me what is taking so long?"

_It's not my fault, Helga ground her teeth together thinking about it.  __We've been taking turns watching the office every night, but there's just nothing to watch.  Face it Moria, Ical's just another boring company.  The smuggling has to be happening at one of the other two.  Or else at the shipping docks somewhere.  Now if only I could convince her to switch me to one of those, then I could get something done!_

Her cell phone began to vibrate, jerking Helga back into consciousness.  She flipped it on and glanced at it.  Someone from a number she didn't recognize was sending her a text message.

BORED?, it asked.

_Of course I'm bored.  Helga looked up and scanned the crowd.  Aha.  On the other side of the room she could see Gerald innocently putting what looked like a text-enabled pager of some kind in his pocket.  __Well, two can play at that game._

A minute later, the first few bars of "Men in Black" beeped loudly across the room.  Several people looked disapprovingly in Gerald's direction as he scrambled to turn it off.  Helga held in her laughter with difficulty.  _Guess he forgot to set it to vibrate.  Whoops._

Gerald finally managed to cut the sound and read what Helga had sent him.

NEED SPITBALL.  _Typical.___

"I am happy!  Say it with me!  I am HAPPY!!"

Helga was about to resort back to her pen when her cell went off again.

SIMMON'S NEW JOB?

She snorted, causing the rather uptight assistant manager to her right to jump.  She could just see their long-time teacher picking this as a future career.  She was about to respond when she heard what the hated speaker was saying.

"I am happy!  I am unique!  I am special in my own special way!"

The CEO shifted in his seat at the front and frowned.  There seemed to be an unusual amount of giggling going on in the room today.

************

The man blended in with the shadows, which was not an easy task considering it was afternoon.  The sun shone brightly in the sky above, but when Mr. Smith needed shadows, he made his own.

Today he needed them even more than normally.  _It's here.  I know it is.  His intuition was screaming at him, and he knew from experience that such feelings were rarely wrong.  He watched the docks carefully as the various ships rode up and down on the waves._

Then it was there.  He was certain he hadn't even blinked, yet it had appeared as if by magic on the edge of the pier, just as the steel met the sidewalk.  Mr. Smith didn't hesitate.  He moved quickly, knowing he would only have a few seconds.

He approached the small, non-descript wooden crate with caution.  No one had seen him yet he was sure, but someone would be coming to pick the crate up very soon, and then he could hardly go unnoticed.  Placing a metal object on the lid, he twiddled a few dials and looked into the lens on top.

At first, he saw only darkness.  A few more turns of the dial and the contents of the crate came into focus.  A dark cylindrical object nestled in the wooden shavings.  Smith drew in a sharp breath.  His intuition had been right again.  He moved a tiny dial on the right-hand side of his metal device and focused on the innocent-looking white label near the bottom of the cylinder.  After reading what it said, he immediately unhooked his equipment from the box, turned and walked away, melting once again into his self-made shadows.  If he had glanced over his shoulder, he would have seen that the crate had already disappeared.

************

WHAT HANGS ON A WALL, IS GREEN, WET AND WHISTLES?

The Mr. Simmons wanna-be had almost wrapped up for the day.  Helga and Gerald had been exchanging jokes and riddles for the past hour, Helga having given up being a good example long ago.  She frowned at Gerald's latest.  _Green, wet and whistles?  What is he on?_

NO IDEA, she sent back, and waited for the answer.  The throw pillow was talking about rainbows again.

A HERRING, came the reply.  _A what?  A red herring?  I don't get it._

NOT HUNG ON MY WALL, she informed him.

After a few minutes, HANG IT THERE THEN appeared on her screen.  _Ugh, fish on my wall, that's what I need.  This still doesn't make any sense._

HERRING NOT GREEN.  Pause.

PAINT IT GREEN.  _This is getting ridiculous.  The CEO had stood to say a few closing words._

HERRING NOT WET!

IT IS IF PAINT IS STILL WET, her screen flashed.  The CEO dismissed them, and Helga left the room, hardly noticing the people around her as she typed a reply angrily.

HERRING DOES NOT WHISTLE!!  _Talk your way out of that one, Tall Hair Boy._

"I know," came a voice behind her, "I just put that in to make it hard."

Helga spun around and glared at Gerald, who was standing behind her smirking.

"How can you call that a riddle?  There's no possible way to guess the answer!"

"That's why it's a joke, not a riddle."

"You're tempting me to bring Old Betsy out of retirement," Helga growled at him.

"Old what?" came yet another voice, forcing Helga to turn around again.

Moria was standing there, a testy expression on her face.  "Never mind.  I need to talk with both of you."

"But—"

"NOW."

**************

"So you just waltzed into the office and picked them up?!"  Simon's eye was twitching even more than normally.

Moria was looking very irritated.  "I called both of their work numbers and no one picked up.  Ms. Pataki's cell was busy, and Mr. Johansson didn't answer my page."

"Yes but…what if someone saw you?  You're the one who's always going on about how the FBI doesn't follow simple security—"

"We needed them here now.  And their cover may be a moot point by tomorrow if all goes well anyway."

"But what if it doesn't go well?"  Moria choose not to answer this, and instead glared holes in the dusty floor.

The four of them were in an FBI auxiliary building which was little more than a rarely used warehouse.  There was exactly one desk and one chair on the concrete floor, and since Moria had appropriated the chair Simon was seated on the desk, leaving Helga and Gerald standing.

"Is someone," demanded Helga, "Going to tell us what's going on here?"

Moria and Simon glanced at each other and seemed to come to an unspoken truce.  Moria sighed and spoke.

"We've had a bit of a breakthrough."

"You've found out which company is smuggling?" asked Gerald.

"No," answered Simon, "it's still between the three.  But we have more of an idea of what to look for."  He picked up a folder he had sitting next to him and handed it to Gerald.  Helga leaned over so that she could see also.

It contained line drawings of a cylindrical object, a crate with approximate dimensions, and a short description of the entire package.  Neither of them had ever seen anything like it.

"What is it?"

"We're not sure.  It's a weapon of some sort, but probably not biological after all.  Right now research believes it's for some kind of chemical warfare."  Simon wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.  "This came into the States this afternoon.  All three of the companies on our hit list had ships in port when this arrived, and our surveillance teams were unable to find out which it came from.  Right now they're trying to figure out where it's going."

Helga had picked up one of the drawings and was reading the label.  "Hot Air?"

Moria nodded.  "We believe that's the code name for the weapon."

"They're smuggling the contents of Gerald's head?" Helga quipped, "Must be a small container."

"Least there's something in my head.  Let me see that."  Gerald took the paper from Helga and looked at it carefully.  "So this is what you expect us to find?  Maybe lying around the office somewhere?"

"Of course not."  Moria was back to being irritated.  "We're expecting you to find out who knows about this.  This smuggling was authorized somewhere in the ranks of the company…or one of the others.  You can't bribe everyone on a ship for this long without generating a leak.  Someone thinks they're just following orders.  We need to know who this traces back to.  And why."

Helga shook her head.  "I seriously doubt we're going to find anything, Moria.  I've been there six months.  I'm in charge of the whole shipping department and I don't know anything about this."  Gerald nodded his head in agreement, though he felt a tiny nagging feeling that perhaps he had forgotten something.

Moria was unimpressed.  "I've heard the same exact thing from all my other agents, Ms. Pataki.  One of you is wrong."

***********

Gerald had returned to Ical to find that Phil had once again left a huge stack of paperwork on his desk.  Joe leaned over the top of his cubicle and told him that when he was done with that he could help out with the committee for choosing the next motivational speaker.  And once again the break room was out of coffee.

_Great, he thought as he picked the first piece of paper out of the stack, __all I need now is a trip to the media room and my day will be complete.  Then he read the first line on the paper and groaned._

MEMO:  To be printed on the IE666 and distributed.

Twenty minutes later he was standing in front of the evil printer, staring at it as if it might begin to work properly through the power of his gaze.  He heard footsteps and looked up to see Helga enter the room.  She looked rather miffed.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it." Gerald told her automatically.

"It's not you.  This time."  Helga made a quick check outside the door and when she was sure no one was listening added, "I just went through all my files.  Nothing.  Moria's on crack."  She headed to the copy machine and began changing the settings for whatever it was she was doing.  Gerald caught himself desperately wishing they could switch places.  He resisted temptation to kick the printer again – the paper tray had turned out to be more expensive than he had thought.  After a moment, Helga glanced over her shoulder at him.

"You really can't handle technology, can you?"

Gerald felt insulted.  "I can handle it fine, _Helga.  It's just evil medieval-aged laser printers that hate me I don't like.  What the heck does 'ERROR 33' mean anyway?"_

She rolled her eyes and came over.  Gerald was somewhat satisfied to note that it took her an entire 30 seconds to fix the thing this time.  A small victory, but one nonetheless.  Helga went back to her copying.

"Just try not to damage it this time."

"I won't damage it if it actually prints _my document instead of the shipping account."_

Helga pressed the copy button.  "It won't do that."

"Don't be too sure," intoned Gerald darkly.

"I am sure.  Ical doesn't use hard copies of shipping reports.  It's all electronic."

"Whatever you say, Helga.  I know what I saw."

There was a pause, then Helga suddenly turned from her copying and looked at him, hard.  "What you _saw?  You mean this actually happened?"_

"Of course it happened.  Why do you think—"

But Helga was pulling him out of the media room and down the hall to her office.  She practically threw him inside, closed the door and sat down at her computer.

"Helga, ow!"  Gerald protested.

She ignored this.  "Look Geraldo," she pointed at her screen, "This is the shipping account.  Is this what was printing?"

Gerald leaned over and scanned the words.  It was the same format, though not the exact page he had read.  He nodded.

"What day was this?"

"Whatever day you came in and yelled at me for abusing your precious printer."

Helga thought a moment and apparently remembered which day that was, because she brought up a document on her computer.

"Did you read any of it?"  He nodded again.  "Do you remember any of it?"

"Um, sort of."  Helga looked at him expectantly, so he tried to recall what had been on the page he had scanned.  "It was a list of supplies on a ship—"

"Imports or Exports?"

"Imports.  I think the ship was named "Reba" or "Rebel" or something like that."

Helga checked the list.  "How about the USS _Revel?"_

"Yeah, that sounds right.  It was on page 3, I remember that."

"Well that helps.  Here, was this it?"  Gerald looked at the screen.

INPORTS, USS _Revel, con._

BANDAGES, cotton

            500 crates, CA

SPLINTS, wood

            145 crates, NY

EXPORTS expected, USS _Cardinal IV_

COTTON SWABS

DISPOSIBLE GLOVES

"Yeah that's it…except…I think there's something missing, maybe."

Helga sat back in her chair and stared at the screen for a few moments, thinking.  Gerald tried to remember what else had been on the sheet.

"I think there was another import listed for the _Revel.  I wish I could…" suddenly it clicked, "Morphine.  It was morphine, I'm sure of it."_

"Can't be.  We don't ship morphine.  We're a smaller company and there's not enough call for it with our regular customers.  Could it have been something else starting with 'M'?"

"No.  I'm positive Helga."

"Well which docks was it slated for, New York or California?"

"Um, same as the one before it," he checked the list again, "So New York."

Helga did a search on "M" imports for the _Revel at the New York docks, but came up with nothing that could be mistaken for morphine.  Gerald however, was adamant that that was what he had seen.  Then Helga's eyes brightened._

"Wait Geraldo, who was trying to print the shipping report anyway?  Do you know?"

"Sure.  It was my boss, Phil."

Helga grinned.  She got out of the report program and logged onto the network.  In a few moments, she was searching through Phil's files.

"How'd you do that?"

"I'm the shipping director.  I have root privileges on all the computers in the building."  Seeing Gerald's confused look, she explained, "That means I can get into anyone's computer from this one.  It's not doing me any good right now though, looks like Phil was smart enough to erase the file after he printed it.  Let's see…if I get onto the server backups, maybe they backed up the printer spool files from…"  Helga typed happily, mumbling to herself as she went through file after file.  "Got it!"  Gerald wasn't sure he'd ever seen Helga grin that wide.  She pressed a button triumphantly and turned to Gerald.

"This, my Luddite friend, is exactly what Phil sent to the IE666."  The file appeared on the screen, and Helga scrolled to page three.

MORPHINE, canisters

            100 crates, NY

"Told you."  _Luddite__, smuddite._

Helga didn't say anything.  She did a quick search and came up with three other imports of morphine, all bound to New York.  Then she raised an eyebrow at Gerald.

"Well Tall Hair Boy, it looks like we've found our smuggler.  Up for a trip to New York?"

"I'd better call Simon."  Gerald started towards the door, and then realized all at once what had been bothering him for the past few days.

"Helga, if you can get into anyone's files from your office, why did you need to put a keycatcher on my computer?"

"A keycatcher?"  Helga's brow wrinkled.  "I didn't put a keycatcher there."

Gerald's heart sped up a few beats.  He moved back to Helga's computer and reached around the back.  With a few deft motions of his hand, he brought out a small white object identical to the one installed on his computer.  They both stared at it.

"Helga," said Gerald, "I think our cover is officially blown."

A/N:  Ha, I did it!  Only a few days to write this chapter, amazing!  I'm terribly impressed with myself, grin.  The joke Gerald tells is an old Yiddish classic, one of my favorites.  You have to tell it to the right type of person though, because it's no fun if they don't ask the right questions.  Next chapter should be up next week…or tell you what.  I'll make ya'll a deal.  I was going to take a break for a few days, but if I get say, ten more reviews by Sunday, then the next chapter will be up Monday, I promise.  If not don't worry, it will still be up by a week from Saturday at least.  How's that sound?  :) ~PJ

Sennical:  Heh, I love writing interaction between Gerald and Helga, it's just too fun.  As for length…well, I'm about 7/12 of the way done right now, as far as I can tell.  I think.  :)  But keep in mind that this is the first book in a series I have planned out…

pokey:  I felt bad for Phoebe too, I felt Helga needed yelling at for that one!

Miss Matched:  Thanks!  Yes I'm sure it's not Phoebe, but congrats, you found one of my red herrings I stuck in to conceal who it actually was, lol.  And here I was thinking I hadn't fooled anyone…another thought was that Gerald's boss's initials are also PB, btw.  *munches on kudos*

DropsofJupiter:  Arnold may actually be back next chapter, depending on how long it looks.  :)  Phew, I'm glad the CIA thing worked, I was a little worried about it but it's really important to the story so it had to be done.  And as for romance…I'm not saying a word…just remember this is a series…


	8. In Which Someone is Excited, Someone is ...

Chapter 7

In Which Someone is Excited, Someone is Sad, Someone is Frightened, and Someone is Bad

"…at Vitello's, all our flowers are arranged by hand just prior to delivery.  Yes, thank you for calling."

Arnold half-listened to the conversations in the front of the store as he swept out the greenhouse.  His mind wasn't exactly on the job.  He was thinking about his two best friends, Gerald and Phoebe.  More specifically, he was thinking about what he had told them – that he was fine.

The thing was, he wasn't entirely certain that this was true.

It wasn't anything really, just something on the outside of his conscious mind, something nagging at him.  He loved the boarding house, and his grandparents, and it was wonderful to have so much time to paint.  He hadn't had a lot of the opportunities that many of his friends had, but that didn't really bother him.  And it wasn't as if he spent _all his time wishing a certain red-head was around.  But somehow, he just felt a bit…lost.  Like he had borrowed someone else's life for a while and now that he had given it back, he wasn't quite sure what to do with his own._

When he was younger, life had always been one adventure after another, because he had made it that way.  Arnold the Optimist, that was him.  Always looking on the bright side.  _And I still do, he decided, __after all, someone has to.  But lately it had seemed more and more that he had to, rather than just wanting to.  Bit by bit, he had lost hope in a few little things that he had always believed as a child.  He had given up on his parents shortly after finding their journal so long ago.  At first it had seemed like such a clue, but in the end nothing had come from it.  He and Gerald weren't as close as they used to be.  Oh they were still best friends, but time and distance, plus the fact that Gerald was a terrible correspondent, had all left their mark.  He didn't know everything that was going on in his life anymore.  The fact that Gerald was having adventures in the FBI without him caused a strange, cold feeling in the pit of Arnold's stomach._

But the main thing, he knew, was that he wasn't a miracle worker anymore.  He still gave advice like he always had, but he had to rely on his own devices.  Once, if he was really stuck on something, he could always count on a last-second save from somewhere.  He sort of drew good things to him, as if he were some sort of luck magnet, or an angel that God decided to help out from time to time inexplicably.  Now…well if he was stuck, more often than not he was just plain stuck.  Not everything had a happy ending.  He couldn't fix everyone.

Arnold gave his head a shake and started sweeping again.  It wouldn't do any good to dwell on it, besides, it was probably just his imagination.  _The bright side Arnold.__  You remember._

The wind whistled briskly outside, stirring up a few leaves which had already begun to fall.  His broom made a criss-cross pattern in the dirt spilled on the floor.  He tried to match each stroke, making a diamond shape every few feet.  He was so busy doing this, in fact, that he didn't notice Mrs. Vitello standing at the doorway until she cleared her throat meaningfully.

He jumped.  "Oh, ah, I was just sweeping this up."  He gave her his best sheepish grin.

His boss just shook her head and smiled a bit.  She waved her hand at the design in the dirt.  "Try and save the artwork for the flowers, ok Arnold?"

"Ok."

She went back to helping a customer, and Arnold quickly finished sweeping.  He checked the clock.  Time to head home.  Arnold washed up in the sink at the back, hung up his green florist's apron, and walked out front to tell Mrs. Vitello he was leaving.

She was saying goodbye to what looked like the last person left in the store.  She smiled and waved as they left, flipped the sign on her door to "Closed" and turned to face Arnold.

"Next week we'll start getting a Christmas window design going," she told him.

"Already?"

"We won't put it up yet, I just like to know what we'll need in advance.  Speaking of which I have a favor to ask."

"Anything."  _I hope she doesn't ask me to work on Christmas._

"I'll need a nice Christmas-y backdrop for the display.  Would you consider painting me something?  I'd pay you of course—"

"You don't have to do that," Arnold said quickly, "I'd be happy to do it for free.  It could be your Christmas gift."

"Oh no you don't," the old woman narrowed her eyes at him, "I'm not hanging a personal gift in the shop, someone might want to buy it off me.  No, I'm commissioning this piece and I expect to pay for it.  You won't get out of buying me a present that easily."

Arnold laughed what he hoped was a normal sounding laugh, hoping she couldn't hear his heart pounding.  "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh I'm no good at these things.  Just make it big enough to be seen from the other side of the street and small enough to fit in the window.  Paint Christmas," seeing his look, she added, "I don't know, a snowflake or toys or Santa or something.  I told you I wasn't good at this."

Arnold's eyes were suddenly brighter than his boss could remember seeing them for quite a while.  "No, you're great at it.  I'll have it ready in two weeks.  Thanks Mrs. Vitello!"  He called this last part over his shoulder as he dashed out the door and down the street.  _My first real commission!  Maybe I've got a miracle or two left in me yet.  He thought his heart was going to burst right out of his ribcage with joy._

_I've told him to call me Rosemary.  Oh well, old habits die hard.  Mrs. Vitello finished closing up the shop and started towards home as well.  __That along with the Christmas bonus I'm going to give him should help, she thought to herself, __as long as he doesn't give it away to someone less deserving.  She shook her head, thinking fondly of the boy who had grown up, but was still just as loved._

*************

Helga hurled her cell phone against the wall.

_CRASH!  Plastic pieces went flying.  Gerald could hear it trying to play a few notes from "The Nutcracker Suite" almost pitifully._

"You know, where I come from those things cost money."

"I get one every time my dad has a sale.  I've got about twenty more in the other room, I just have to activate it to my old number." Helga muttered and stalked from the room in search of a new phone.

Secretly, Gerald wished he could do about the same thing to his beeper.  Ever since they had found the keycatcher on Helga's computer, both of them had been trying to get ahold of their superiors.  And neither of them were having much luck.  Veronica the Secretary of Death had promised to give Simon Gerald's message about fifty times now.  He had even driven over and checked to be sure his car wasn't in the lot.  But Simon just wasn't there.  Helga only had one number for Moria, one that she almost never was absent from, but today she had had to leave her a voice mail.  Sixty-seven times.

Trying to act casual when you know in a matter of hours the enemy will know who you are is not easy, and both Helga and Gerald had been glad to leave the office today.  They had at first gone to their separate homes, but after about an hour Gerald had showed up on Helga's doorstep with a packed duffel bag.  It was no good to wait alone, he reasoned and they would probably be ordered to head to New York soon anyway.  Plus, he was wearing holes in his carpet pacing.  Helga had rolled her eyes but let him in, and Gerald thought she probably didn't like being alone right now either.

Although he was exceptionally glad that she had thrown the phone at the wall opposite where he was sitting.

He could hear rummaging noises from the other room, accompanied by various things Helga was saying under her breath, which, Gerald figured, it was probably good that he couldn't understand.  _I need coffee.  He had already noted that she didn't have a coffee maker out, but that was ok.  He had a travel kit for just such occasions._

Unzipping his duffel bag, Gerald unpacked a tiny coffee maker, only big enough to handle two cups at a time.  He took out a filter and some ground coffee beans and happily busied himself preparing to feed his addiction.  By the time Helga reappeared, the heavenly aroma was already drifting through the air.

Helga wrinkled her nose.  "Ugh.  Are you really that desperate for caffeine?  Because I do have tea you know."

"Tea?  Tea??" Gerald was aghast, "Don't you know why we fought for freedom in this country?"

Helga got a dangerous look in her eye.  "There's nothing wrong with tea."

"No, no of course not.  Not as long as you mix it with a good amount of _coffee."_

"Coffee drinkers are just people who have killed off their taste buds so they need something horrid tasting in order to taste anything at all."

"Tea drinkers are just people who are too lazy to make coffee."

"What!"

"With tea," Gerald explained, "You just boil water, add tea and you're done.  Coffee takes skill, it takes talent, it takes finesse—"

"It takes pressing the button on the coffee maker."

Gerald sniffed.  "You wouldn't understand."

"I hope not.  Although I will admit that you seem to have finally found a technology at your level."  She indicated the machine's solitary button.

Gerald didn't say anything, but when he sat down on the couch later he made sure he blew on his coffee so that the scent wafted towards Helga.  Helga gritted her teeth but ignored it.

After a few moments of silence, Helga got up from the couch and started pacing again.  "Where the heck is Moria?  For all we know, Phil's already checked the keycatcher and knows that we found his little smuggling scheme!  He could be outside, watching the apartment right now!"  She stopped and ran her fingers through her hair nervously.

Gerald blinked and shook his head slightly, as if to clear it.  "You know, that's not even the worst problem."

"Are you saying that we're endangering something more important than our lives?"

"Yes.  Well, no.  Sort of."

"Make sense Geraldo."

"Look Helga," Gerald put down his coffee with difficulty and looked at her, "If you were Phil, and you knew that your smuggling operation was about to go bust, what would you do?"

Helga thought a minute, then her eyes widened.  "Get rid of all the evidence.  Which means—"

"When does the _Revel come into New York?"_

"9pm.  Tonight."  They both looked at the clock hanging on the wall.  It was 6:15.

"So if we don't get there before he does…" Helga groaned.  "We're not going to have a legal leg to stand on.  Not to mention we won't be any closer to figuring out where this "hot air" stuff is going.  They'll change everything if they've any brains at all."

Gerald stood up.  "Let's go."

"Gerald, we're not authorized to—"

"No one else knows about this.  This is an emergency situation, Moria and Simon will just have to deal with it."

But Helga had thought of something.  "Wait, Gerald you might not even be in danger, you shouldn't risk it.  Phil will only know about me from that keycatcher."

Gerald shook his head.  "He'll put two and two together.  He's been suspicious about how well we know each other for a while I think.  Keeps asking me questions about you.  Anyway either way the Agency will want to pull both of us out of there, not just you.  No real risk."

"We'll never make it in time."

"We will if you hurry.  Helga," Gerald raised an eyebrow at her, "What's the problem here?"

"The thing is…" Helga rubbed her arm and looked at the floor, "When it comes to the Agency, I uh, don't exactly have a perfect record.  As far as following code."

"No one does.  I have one or two black marks myself.  What's a few more?"

"Well…Moria said the next time she hears about it I'll be put on probation."

"She won't hear about it until it's too late to do anything but congratulate us on a job well done."

"Gerald—"

"Ok, so we break a few," Helga gave him a look so he amended, "Few hundred rules.  In the grand scheme of things, what's more important?  Eventually, they'll thank us."

"After chewing our butts off."

"Well, yes." Gerald admitted.

Helga looked at clock again, then back at Gerald.  She sighed.

"I'm going to change and get packed.  But just for the record, this is not a good idea, Tall Hair Boy."

**************

Crouching in the near-darkness by the edge of the docks, Gerald shivered in the autumn evening air and tried to catch his breath.  Helga had pulled a few strings to get them on a jet to New York and then a car to the docks as fast as possible, but even so they had just barely made it.  The _Revel wasn't in port yet but it was due any minute.  Helga had changed into a very Pink Nazi-ish pants suit and was ready to board that ship the moment it came in.  But she still wasn't very happy about it._

"Assuming we don't get picked off by snipers the moment we show our faces, assuming we can even get onto the ship, assuming they haven't dumped the contraband already, assuming they won't dump it the second we get on the ship, and assuming we find anything, what are you planning on doing?  Just grabbing the evidence and running?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Gerald honestly.

"Great.  Wonderful.  I'm about to die, and genius here isn't sure yet!"

_What?  Confused, Gerald turned to ask her what in the world she was talking about, but stopped when he saw the look on her face.  __She's freaking out, he realized.  Gerald suddenly remembered being trapped in the subway with Helga years ago.  She was fine as long as she was doing something, but when she had to sit still and wait for help, she went into hysterics.  Not that he had reacted much differently, but at least he was quieter about it.  Even now his palms were sweating like crazy despite the cold, but he could stay silent.  Helga couldn't.  She needed something to do._

"Helga, is this the correct time?"  He held out his wrist to her so that she could see his watch.

"What?"  She was a bit distracted.  "I don't know.  Why are you worrying about watches at a time like this?"

"Because I think it's two minutes off."  He pressed on.

Helga took hold of his wrist and examined the watch.  _Her hands are just as clammy as mine.  Gerald hid a grin as she fiddled with the dials and knobs on the watch, trying to make it accurate.  __Never mind that it's already accurate to one/one thousandth of a second and I just checked it this afternoon._

After a few minutes, Helga said, "I don't know what you're smoking Geraldo.  This watch is perfectly on time."  But her hands were a little warmer now.  She dropped his wrist and Gerald caught her hand and squeezed it lightly.

"Thanks." he said.

Helga let go of his hand and frowned at him.  "Don't get all mush—Gerald look."  He turned back around.  The _Revel was pulling in._

He stood up and straightened his tie, while Helga adjusted her suit and brushed it off.  "Ready to go?"

She nodded, now perfectly calm.  "Ready."

Helga led the way across the concrete and steel towards the ship.  She held a clipboard in one hand and walked as if she had every right to be there.  They had almost reached the gangplank when a man's voice stopped them.

"Hey!  You can't just walk onto the ship!"

Helga turned and gave the man a look so withering Gerald thought he would just shrivel up and blow away.  "What did you say?"

The man was less sure now.  "Um, I uh, was just asking what you were doing?"

She narrowed her eyes.  "I'm Mrs. Helga G. Pataki, Corporate National Shipping Director of Ical Corporation.  I'm here to inspect this ship.  Is that clear?"  She said this in a tone which implied that it'd better be.

"Uh, yes ma'am.  That is, sorry to have bothered you." he mumbled and walked away quickly.

As they boarded the ship, Gerald said, "Well done, Pink Nazi."

"Pink _what?"_

"I'll explain later."

Once on the ship they were distinctly out of place in their business suits, so they tried not to be seen, which wasn't terribly difficult as the sailors were busy packing and preparing to go on shore.  Getting into the hold was a bit harder, and Helga had to pull her inspection act several times before they could enter.

Most of the crates in the hold hadn't been touched since arrival in port, as the sailors tended to their personal belongings first while waiting for those responsible for picking up the packages.  It was dark and musty smelling, and Gerald found himself wishing he had brought a flashlight.  Helga had one, but the batteries died almost as soon as she turned it on.

"Great.  How are we supposed to find this stuff in the dark?" she asked, rattling her flashlight.

"Maybe there's a light switch here somewhere.  You go that way, I'll go this way and look for it."

The two of them felt their way along the walls of the ships.  Gerald felt some kind of breeze around his ankles, which he thought was very odd until Helga switched on the lights.  And promptly screamed.

It wasn't a breeze.  The hold was filled with rats.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Helga climbing up one of the larger crates.  She was obviously trying her best to keep from screaming again.  Gerald willed himself not to look down and instead read the label stamped on the crate in front of him.

MORPHINE, it said.

"Hey Helga!  Over here!"  Gerald began prying off the top of the crate.

Helga made her way over stepping on top of the crates.  She crouched on the one next to what Gerald was opening and helped him tear off the lid.

It was empty.

"I knew it." Helga growled, "Phil told them to dump the evidence."

"But then why didn't they get rid of the crate as well?"

Helga frowned and pried open a corner of another morphine crate.  "This one's empty too."

Gerald moved to another one and tried it.  "And this one."

"So's this."

"And this."

"This one too."

"This one has—oh wait, sorry just a dead rat."

"Don't even say it." Helga shivered and climbed to another crate.

For the next ten minutes they opened all the crates marked "morphine".  They were all empty.

"Well," Helga said in a tired voice, "I told you Ical doesn't ship morphine."

"Nope.  Just empty crates."  Gerald slumped against one and kicked away a rat.

Helga grimaced and opened the lid of the nearest crate again, then the one next to it.  Her brow wrinkled.  She held open both lids and looked from one crate to another.  "Gerald…I think this crate is different."

"It's not empty?"

"No it's empty, it's just…differently empty."

"Huh?"

"It's shallower."  She closed the crates and indicated which she meant.  "Kick the side."  Gerald did so.  "Aha, see!" Helga got into the crate and began prying up one of the bottom boards.  She had it up in a minute, revealing a hidden compartment underneath.

"Wait a minute, I'll help."  Gerald yanked apart the side of the crate so he could get at it better, and soon they had torn off all the boards.  In the bottom of the crate was another crate, a much smaller one.  One precisely the measurements they were supposed to be looking for.

"Got it," said Helga with a grin.

Gerald started to open it.

"What are you doing?"  Helga stopped him.  "You can't just take it.  One, it's probably very dangerous, two, they'll know we have it and we'll never find out where they're taking this stuff and three, they won't let you off the ship with it."

Gerald tore the lid off anyway.  There was a glass tube inside, filled with a dull green liquid that was almost black it was so dark.  "It's small enough.  I can fit it in my pocket and no one will know.  And I don't think there's any point pretending now – Phil knows, so everyone will know.  They may not even send someone to pick this up.  And our agents haven't been able to trace it so far, why would they now when they're being extra careful?"

"This is against every procedure in the book," Helga complained, then she shrugged.  "Oh well, it's your job you're risking on this one.  Just remember I had nothing to do with this."

"Right.  I get the promotion."  Suddenly they heard the sound of yelling outside.

"Sounds like they found us."  Helga gingerly came down on the floor and they moved quickly to the exit.  It sounded as though they were right outside.

"Ok Geraldo, stuff that thing in your pocket, I'll hit the lights, we'll put these on and when they come in, we'll run out, got it?"  She handed him a pair of night vision goggles.  "I didn't use these earlier because you can't read crates easily with them on," she explained, then added, "We may have to fight our way off the ship."

"Um…"

"What?"

"I just realized, I don't have any pockets in this suit."

Helga glared at him, then grabbed the tube and stuffed it in her inside jacket pocket.  "There.  Ready?"

"Let's go."

Helga hit the lights.  Actually, it was more of a kick.  She stood on a crate and broke the light bulb with the heel of her shoe, then climbed down to wait with Gerald, who was thinking that he couldn't have done that move if he tried.

The night-vision goggles made everything odd shades of red.  Gerald had never worn them before, and he found it kind of disconcerting.  Everything sort of swam around him.  Helga appeared unaffected.

They didn't have to wait long.  A few seconds after Helga had joined him Gerald heard the hold door creaking open, and several pairs of feet came down the stairs.  Hidden by the dark and several crates, he could see three large men enter the room and start groping around for the lights.  They didn't look happy.

When they had gone far enough into the hold, Helga motioned to Gerald and they snuck up the stairs.  Gerald started to take off his goggles but suddenly realized that he still needed them.  Someone had managed to kill all the lights in this section of the docks.  _This is not good._

Helga was thinking about the same thing.  The ship deck didn't have anyone on it, which was strange since the hold hadn't been unloaded yet.  She was about to walk out into the open when Gerald caught at her sleeve and pointed.  Headed their way were two more bulky men with flashlights.  And again, they did not look happy.  Gerald used hand signals to tell her he thought they should split up and try to go around them.  She nodded in agreement and they both started moving towards opposite sides of the ship.

Helga had almost made it to the gangplank when she found that she could go no further without being noticed.  One last burly man was leaning against the side of the ship right at the entrance, and she would have to walk right past him.  _Oh well, time to find out how much Ju-jitsu I remember._

Deciding against the subtle approach, Helga walked right up to the man and tapped him on the shoulder.  As he turned around in surprise, she punched him as hard as she could in the face.  _Hm__.__  I guess I don't remember much.  The man reeled for a moment, then went after her with a roar that reminded her of a water buffalo.  She leapt to one side, but he caught her by the arm and slammed her into the ship wall.  __Ouch.  Really must practice Ju-jitsu sometime.  She jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow and then used the wall to push herself into him, knocking the wind out of him._

A few feet away from her, she could see Gerald having similar difficulties.  _Criminy__, this worked well.  We should have stuck together and taken out this guy two to one.  Suddenly, her legs were sweep out from under her, and she hit the deck, hard.  She rolled out of the way just in time as the man tried to pin her to the ground.  She crawled to the wall and gasped for breath.  Gerald had put one guy over the side, but the two with flashlights had found him now as well.  The man she was fighting got up from the floor and rushed towards her.  She froze.  She couldn't get up in time.  She was going to be crushed.  So she did the only thing so could – dove for his legs.  He tripped, lost his balance and would have fallen on top of Helga but he caught himself instinctively on the ship's wall.  Quickly, Helga scrambled out of the way and finally remembered a Ju-jitsu move.  She delivered a deft blow to the side of his neck, causing him to lose consciousness.  He collapsed in a rather large heap._

She looked over at Gerald just in time to see another guy go over the side of the ship.  _Heh__.__  He's not bad.  Ruined his suit though.  One of Gerald's sleeves was almost completely torn off, and he had what looked like a blood stain on his front.  __He'll regret that in the morning.  While Gerald was still off-balance, however, the second man slammed into him before Helga could shout a warning.  For moment, both of them teetered on the edge of the wall, then the man went over, taking Gerald with him into the icy water below.  Helga was alone on the deck._

She stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do, and then the dock lights came back on.  She heard voices coming up from the hold.  She ran.

*************

It was storming outside, but Phoebe didn't mind.  The rain matched her mood.  She stirred a cup of green tea as she sat in the middle of her floor and then took a sip.  Hm.  Too hot.  She set the tea aside for a bit.

Her promotion had become official today.  She had spent most of it moving her stuff from her tiny cubicle to the grand new office on the top floor.  Then there had been an announcement to the staff of the lab, at which she had made a small speech which she was certain no one had listened to, and then most people had gone home early.  She had wanted to celebrate with her new lab co-partner, but he had a big family thing going on, and they had only been dating for a few days so she felt uncomfortable at the thought of meeting his family already.

The Colic-Hyerdahl Laboratory.  One of Phoebe's dreams.  The whole top floor to herself, for her projects only.  No more clocking her time.  No more stupid product testing.  No more 45 minute lunch breaks.  Just what she'd always wanted.

So why was she feeling so empty?

_I have everything I've ever wanted, she told herself, __there__ is no logical reason for me to be lonely!_

Lonely.  Oops.  She had said it.  Well, thought it anyway.  She shook her head and pulled a photo album out of the bookshelf next to her.  She flipped past her family photos to her favorite picture of her friends.  It was taken the last day of high school, before everyone became so scattered.  Sid had taken the picture, so he wasn't in it, and of course Lila had already married Arnie and moved by then, but everyone else was there.  She traced them with her finger.  There she was, standing in the front of course, hands politely clasped in front of her, though her huge grin gave her away.  Helga had insisted on standing next to Phoebe, despite her height, so the blonde was almost kneeling with poor Eugene trying to look over Helga's head behind her.  Phoebe was wearing a black and gold oriental-cut dress which she still had in her closet somewhere.  Helga was wearing a powder blue dress that was very pretty on her, though it was a color she had never worn before or since as far as Phoebe knew.  

She looked for Arnold and found him standing near the back, having almost grown into his odd-sized head by then.  He and Gerald were next to each other, goofing off and making funny faces at the camera.  Actually most of the boys were making faces at the camera.  Typical.

What had Arnold said Gerald was doing now?  She couldn't remember.  Helga and he were both in New Jersey and neither of them liked it there, that much she had gathered.  So why stick around?  Why was a town they hated better than the town they grew up in?  Why not come home?

There were flowers all over in the picture.  Nadine had wildflowers from Peapod Kid.  Eugene had apparently gotten the same idea since Sheena was grasping a bunch of freshly picked daisies and Queen Anne's Lace.  Most of the girls had roses of some kind, as did several of the guys.  Arnold had a roseb—no, Phoebe looked closer.  He had two rosebuds in his buttonhole, one white and one pink.  Funny, she'd never noticed that before.  And of course Rhonda had some kind of tropical flowers from…hmm, who was it that year?  Surely not Sid, that was over by then.  Probably Lorenzo.  Even Helga had gone so far as to stick a white lily in her hair.

But the Phoebe in the picture just smiled at the camera and clasped her hands.  She wasn't holding any flowers. 

Phoebe closed the book firmly and picked up her tea before it got too cold to drink.  Of course, she hadn't been dating anyone at the time that picture was taken.  _But then, neither had several other girls, and they still got flowers.  But it doesn't matter.  I have flowers now.  She smiled a little at that and looked at the corner of the room, where she had put several bouquets friends and family had sent her with their congratulations.  Even Dr. Colic had given her a carnation, though really it was his celebration just as much as hers.  Arnold had sent a beautiful basket that no doubt Mrs. Vitello had given him a substantial discount on.  Almost everyone she knew had at least sent a card.  It was nice to know they cared._

But it would have been nicer if they had showed up to tell her so in person.

_What is wrong with me tonight?  Phoebe downed the rest of her tea and decided to go to bed.  She would feel better in the morning, and maybe go out to a late celebration with someone since it was Saturday and easier to get in touch with people.  Even the ever-present Arnold had had to work late tonight._

She rinsed out her cup in the kitchen and put away the few things she still had lying around the house.  Stretching and trying to make herself believe she felt tired, she headed towards her bedroom.  But when she walked past the front door, the doorbell rang.  Puzzled, Phoebe glanced at the clock on the way over.  It was almost midnight.  Was something wrong?

She opened the door to find that the storm was still going strong.  The wind was howling and the rain was coming down in sheets.  And in front of her, shivering and soaked to the bone in a bedraggled looking pants suit, was Helga.  

"Pheobe," Helga said quietly, "I need your help."

A/N:  Ok, so it's not Monday.  Still, Tuesday isn't bad for a ten-page chapter, eh?  :)  Thanks to the people that reviewed (I had seven by Sunday, so close grin) it is very much appreciated.  The next chapter will be hopefully rather shorter and will come out next week at some point.

Miss Matched:  Yay, laughter!  One of my favorite things to do is to make people laugh.  That and eat chocolate kudos bars of course.

Zarius:  Wow, thank you very much.  ::hides Spy Kids DVD::  Erm, I mean, what DVD?  (Come on give me a break, Antonio Banderas was in it…at least I haven't seen the second one right?)

Maxine:  Lol.  Yes I see!  Thanks for taking the time, grin.

Sennical:  For some reason when I think of Gerald grown up, I think of Will Smith.  I think that's where the MIB thing came from, lol.  And I think the morphine-or-lack-thereof question was answered in this chapter, but let me know if not.

TADAH:  Thanks, will do!

DropsofJupiter:  Lol.  I didn't say there would be a G/H romance.  Of course, I didn't say there wouldn't either.  I see your point, but then Helga hasn't seen Arnold for a while either.  She doesn't tend to think of him in sexy painter mode, lol.  I laughed hysterically while I wrote the cell phone scene, so I'm glad to see people liked it, that means there's hope for me yet!

pokey:  Yep, real joke, odd huh?  I love it!  "Herring" is one of those words that is automatically funny, like "weasel" or "accordion".  Well I think so anyway.  

miss amyami:  Yes I love the tension you automatically get with Gerald and Helga as main characters.  I've promised myself that I'm not going to start giving away plot so I won't answer your questions either way…except to say that at some point in this 4-book series, there will be kissing by someone with someone else…but at a purely PG rating, of course.  How's that for vague?  :)


	9. In Which Helga Gets Chewed Out, And Gera...

Chapter 8

In Which Helga Get Chewed Out, And Gerald Gets Help

When Phoebe woke up the next morning it took her a few minutes to remember why she was on the floor.  When she remembered, she sat up, put on her glasses and looked over at her futon, where Helga was sleeping very soundly.  

She grinned at the sight of her old friend and got up to make breakfast and tea.  It was all she could to do keep from singing as she busied herself around the tiny kitchen.  Helga hadn't told her why she had suddenly appeared last night, in fact Phoebe hadn't allowed her to say or do anything except go to bed immediately.  But Phoebe knew that when Helga G. Pataki showed up at midnight on a dark and stormy night, it was a sure sign that something exciting was happening.  For a moment it had seemed like elementary school again, as if Helga were about to press a giant lizard into her arms or tell her she was sleepwalking to Ar—erm, Ice Cream's house.  At that thought, Phoebe let out a giggle.

"Yen for your thoughts."  Helga had woken up and was standing in the doorway, wrapped in Phoebe's much-too-small robe.  She looked horribly tired, though Phoebe knew she had had at least ten hour's sleep.

"I was just thinking how silly you look in my clothes.  Didn't you bring a bag with you?"

Helga smiled slightly.  "I'm too lazy to actually get dressed.  First I'd have to pick something out, then I'd have to take off my nightgown, then I'd have to put on my clothes…it's just not worth it."  She sighed dramatically.

Phoebe rolled her eyes and put a bowl down in front of her friend. 

"What's this?"  Helga raised an eyebrow at it suspiciously.

"It's called oatmeal, Helga."

"Sure it's not some strange Japanese-type breakfast food?" 

"I'm sure."  Phoebe started back up the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"To get you some clothes."  Phoebe left Helga poking the oatmeal tentatively with her spoon.

Helga's bag had been left in the upstairs bathroom with the remains of her pants suit, as both were totally soaked.  Phoebe rummaged through it and found some jeans and a pink t-shirt that looked like it had been thrown in as an afterthought.  She shook her head at the obvious lack of packing skills, and had turned to go downstairs when she saw that Helga's jacket had fallen off the shower curtain rod and was crumpled in a heap on the floor.  

_It'll never dry that way, she thought and automatically reached to pick it up.  Her hand closed around something small and hard._

Helga was trying to relax.  She wasn't quite sure what she was doing here, only she knew that she needed to be somewhere safe.  And she couldn't think of anyone she trusted more than Phoebe.

_Oy__,__ may as well get this over with.  She reached into the robe pocket and pulled out her cell phone.  Ah.  One hundred and fifty-two missed calls.  Moria had outdone herself.  Helga had turned off her cell moments after escaping the __Revel, and she had been in no condition to confront Moria last night.  She dialed her number and pressed call.  The phone rang once, and Moria answered._

"Pataki, you--!"  Moria proceeded to colorfully question Helga's parentage.

Apparently, she had caller ID.

When she had paused to take a breath, Helga interjected, "Nice to hear from you too, Moria."

This prompted more exclamations, some of which Helga had never heard before, even from Bob.

"So I take it you got my messages." she prompted at the next break in the steady stream of verbal warfare.

Moria began to run out of English words, and moved on to Spanish to express her feelings.

"I'm ok.  Safe and all that, in case you were wondering."

Moria was slipping into a strange combination of German and French.  Helga wasn't entirely sure that she was listening.

"You're obviously upset.  Perhaps we should discuss this at a later date."

_I didn't even know she knew Russian.  Helga held the phone away from her ear for a while, then put it back so she could speak._

"Right then.  I'll talk to you later, just wanted to check in.  You know, just following standard procedure."

Sputterings Douglas Adams and Mother Goose would have been proud of came out of the phone.  Helga hung up.  _That went well._

She leaned over to tuck the phone back into her pocket.  When she straightened, Phoebe was standing in front of her.

"Hey great Pheebs, you found my jeans!"  She took them and the shirt, then noticed the odd look that she was giving her.  Helga blinked.

"What's wrong?"

Phoebe raised her hand so that Helga could see what was inside.  It was a tiny glass tube, with a dark liquid inside that looked black, though Helga knew it was green.

_Uh oh.___

Phoebe walked over and placed the object on the counter.  Then she turned to face the blonde.

"Time to start talking, old friend."

**************

_Black.__  Black and cold._

_Numbness.__  Cold and numb.  Impossible._

_Ship.__  Cold.  Pain.  Hurts.  Hand hurts.  Head hurts._

_Everything hurts.  Pins and needles.  Helga.  Where was Helga?  A slight feeling of panic hit Gerald, then he realized something else._

_Not cold.  Hot?  No.  Warm.  Shouldn't be warm.  Ocean cold.  Where am I?  What day is it?  He tried to see his watch but couldn't.  __Arm won't move.  Fingers move, but arm won't.  Something holding arm.  He shook his head and immediately regretted it.  __At least my head moves.__  Where am I?  It suddenly occurred to him that his eyes were closed.  He opened them._

He wasn't in the ocean.  _Well, that's a start.  He was in a room, a warm room with a bed and blankets which he was wrapped in tightly.  He wiggled a bit and loosened his arms.  His whole body was sore, and his head seemed to be exploding over and over again._

Where was Helga?_  He lifted his head some and scanned the tiny room.  Well she wasn't here, wherever here was.  He tried to check his watch again but it had stopped working.  __Great, the minute I actually start to need her, she disappears.  What do I know about fixing watches?  He wondered if she had escaped the ship.  Then he wondered if he had._

_Come on Gerald, think!  He remembered falling off the ship, and then the ocean.  But he must have hit his head on something after that, because the next thing he remembered was waking up._

He decided to try getting out of bed, but only made it to a sitting position.  _Better than nothing, but not much good if I'm a prisoner.__  He sat there with his eyes closed and his back against the wall for a while, and when he opened his eyes again he noticed that there was a screen and a touchpad of some kind on the wall opposite him.  __Since when do they install ATMs in hospital rooms?_

Deciding this required investigation, Gerald slid carefully out of bed and made his way slowly to the wall, where he leaned against it gratefully.  It did look very similar to an ATM machine, although the screen was blank and there were no slots for money to appear in.  As Gerald stood there wondering what to do next, the screen suddenly lit up and words scrolled across it.

GREETINGS GERALD, it said.

"Um, hello?" he responded before he realized that he should probably type back an answer.  It appeared that whoever was typing could hear him, however, because the screen continued flashing words at him.

ARE YOU FEELING BETTER? it asked.

_Better than what? Gerald wondered.  "I'm ok, I guess."  Something about this seemed very familiar to him, though he couldn't figure out why.  His head was still hurting._

I GAVE YOU A SLEEPING PILL LAST NIGHT.  IT SHOULD WEAR OFF SOON, AND THEN YOUR HEAD WILL FEEL BACK TO NORMAL.  YOU HAVE NO BROKEN BONES OR INTERNAL INJURIES.  YOU ARE VERY LUCKY I FOUND YOU WHEN I DID.

"When **did you find me?  Who are you anyway?"**

There was a pause, then I AM MR. SMITH appeared.

"Mr. Smith?"  Something clicked with Gerald.  "Not the Mr. Smith who used to live at Arnold's boarding house years ago?"

Another pause, longer this time.  YES.

_Well that explains a lot.  Gerald remembered Arnold telling him about Mr. Smith for the first time.  "Mr. Smith is…private." he had said.  So Smith was stationed in New York now.  Gerald had known he worked for the CIA for years, but had never heard anything from him since fourth grade.  He'd have to mention something to Arnold if he got a chance.  The screen continued to scroll words across it._

I WAS WATCHING THE PIER AND SAW YOU AND THE WOMAN YOU WERE WITH ENTER THE SHIP.  WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT, I REALIZED SOMETHING WAS WRONG.  SO I CAME CLOSER AND HAPPENED TO BE THERE WHEN YOU FELL OFF.

But Gerald hadn't got past the first sentence yet.  "You saw Helga?  Did she get off the ship?  Where is she now?"

I DO NOT KNOW HER CURRENT LOCATION.  WHEN THE LIGHTS CAME BACK ON, I SAW HER RUN OFF THE DOCKS.  

"And you didn't go after her?  She could have been caught, and she was carrying some serious contraband!"  

I WOULD HAVE FOLLOWED HER BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AT THE POSSIBLE COST OF YOUR LIFE.

"Oh.  Good choice, then.  Um, thanks."  Gerald looked towards the floor and tried to think.  Ok, so Helga was missing.  Best case, she'd already met up with Moria and they were working on the contents of that glass tube right now.  Worst case, she was captured or dead, the tube was in the hands of the enemy and the FBI was about to fire his butt for a major fiasco.  Suddenly he frowned.

"Hey, where's my clothes?"  He was wearing a set of warm flannel pajamas.  _In plaid, no less.__  Ugh._

I AM AFRAID THAT YOUR SUIT WAS BEYOND REPAIR.  BUT THAT IS THE LEAST OF YOUR CONCERNS.  THE PEOPLE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SMUGGLING OPERATION KNOW WHO YOU ARE.  YOU MUST STOP THEM BEFORE THEY GET TO YOU.  A tray beneath the screen opened and Gerald saw his passport, a document entitled "Report on Activities on and Near Ical Corporation Ships, With Regard to Possible Terrorism, by Mr. Smith", a set of car keys, and a map.  _Well, he's nothing if not thorough.  As Gerald gathered his things, Mr. Smith added, YOU MUST LEAVE NOW.  _

"Whoa man, I am going _nowhere in this getup.  Clear?"_

Gerald got the feeling that Mr. Smith was sighing somewhere.  ENTER CODE 24683, USER ID 33, the screen informed him.

Gerald did so and a panel on the wall slid back.  A rack of suits came out and began rotating slowly.  Gerald picked one out and checked the label.  _Just my size even.__  He smiled and put the suit back._

"Now that's more like it."  He rubbed his hands and started to sort through the rack, but stopped himself.  _Come on Gerald, business before pleasure now.  He turned back to the screen._

"Is there a phone around here?" he asked.  Another panel slid open and Gerald took the offered cell phone.  "Great.  I'll just grab a suit and be out of your way.  Thanks again.  Oh," his head was feeling better, but Gerald knew what he needed to think clearly, "And can I get some coffee?"

*************

The mansion was so huge it should really have been called a palace.  Sweeping white arches towered over incredible gardens filled with every kind of tropical flower.  A little winding stone path made its way through the greenery and fountains towards the main entrance.  And hurrying along that path was a familiar-looking man.

He was wearing a business suit, though it looked as though he had been wearing the same suit for about two days straight, which was more or less accurate.  He was sweating profusely as if he wasn't used to the hot and humid climate, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep.

As he reached the entrance, the heavy oak doors swung open on well-oiled hinges to receive him.  He entered and turned right, down a long hall filled with tapestries and sunlight.  At the end of the hall was a medium-sized room with the door already open, expecting him.  He closed the door behind him and stood, waiting.  The room was filled with windows, but they were the kind that let you see out, though no one else could see in.  They looked out onto the vast gardens and the grounds around them.  The room was empty except for a giant mahogany desk, hand carved with various mythological scenes, and a sleek leather high-backed chair behind it.  There was one other person in the room that he could see, a very tall man who nodded at him.  The chair was facing away from them, and he guessed there was someone in it.  A moment later he was proven correct.

"I see you've deigned to report in, Mr. Briteon." came a voice from the chair.

Phil flinched slightly at the sound of his name.  He didn't know the man next to him, and wasn't sure he wanted him to know who he was.

"Yes sir."

The chair swung around, revealing a male of average build and shape, with tan skin and long, very dark hair.  His face was thrown into shadow by the back of his chair, which was a strange effect in such a well-lighted room.  He smiled disarmingly.

"And what, may I ask, happened?"

"It's all in my report sir.  Have you read—"

"Of course I read it!", the man in the chair growled, "What I'm asking is how a man of your supposed intelligence let something like this happen!"

Phil took a step back.  "Look, I know it looks bad, but I think—"

"Looks bad?  _Looks bad?"  The tall man let out a snort, and the man in the chair continued.  "Your entire operation at Ical is finished.  You yourself have had to flee.  The people responsible are still alive.  And a shipment is missing!"_

Phil tried defending himself.  "I have people tracking Johansson and Pataki down right now.  They'll be found soon.  And there's no evidence that the shipment was actually in their possession.  It wasn't even activated, so for all we know—"

"For all we know," the man interrupted again, "The authorities are surrounding the area this minute, as you have led them so nicely to us."

Phil had no response to that.  He glanced around him nervously.  "What are you going to do?"

The man suddenly sat back in his chair, and smiled again.  "Don't worry, Mr. Briteon.  We don't kill people for making the worst mistake of their lives."  Phil relaxed visibly, and the man added, "Yet."

"Handle the rest of the shipments.  Activate them, just in case.  And Mr. Briteon," he said as Phil turned to go, "Make very sure that those two are taken care of.  Understood?"

Phil nodded gratefully, and got out of there as fast as he could.

The man in the chair sat still for a moment after the door closed, then he picked up a paperweight on his desk and threw it through a window.  It smashed gloriously.  He turned to the tall man.

"I suppose you think I'm crazy, Doctor."

The tall man smiled.  "Practicing your defenestration skills is hardly an act of insanity.  I might do the same thing in your place."

The other man raised an eyebrow.  "Let's get down to business."

A/N:  Sorry this took extra long to get out, real life interfered this week.  I'll try to get the next chapter up by the end of the week…hopefully.  And defenestration is a real word, I promise, lol.  ~PJ

Jacquleine Schaeffer:  Thanks, I've been trying to keep it as realistic as possible.  That's why there's an FBI and a CIA agent in pursuit of a biological weapon called Hot Air in the jungles of…ok, well I did say as realistic as *possible*, lol.

Miss Matched:  Phoebe smiled!  Heck, she almost sang!  :)

miss amyami:  I updated!  Happy?  :)

pokey:  But if I didn't add a cliffhanger, it wouldn't be as exciting!  That and I like torturing those who read this story…wait, did I say that out loud?

Sennical:  Hehe, Will Smith as Tall Hair Boy…I like it…and don't worry, Gerald's fine…for now.  grin


	10. In Which Our Little Team Gets Back Toget...

Chapter 9

In Which Our Little Team Gets Back Together

"…so I came here.  I didn't know where else to go.  Sorry Pheebs."  Helga took a deep breath.  Her story had taken a lot longer to tell than she would have thought, though this was partially because she had cut out all the names of the other people involved, including Gerald.  Helga had told the whole thing while staring at the floor, words just spilling out of her.  Now she chanced a glance at Phoebe.

Phoebe was grinning.  _Uh oh.__  Did she flip?_

"Pheebs?  You ok?"

"Of course, Helga.  Why wouldn't I be?"

_Definitely flipped.__  "Oh no reason.  I only told you that your best friend is a CIA agent working on an anti-terrorist operation and that glass tube you've got there is some kind of secret weapon, but hey that happens every day, right?"_

Phoebe rolled her eyes and started clearing away the breakfast dishes.  "No of course not.  But I always assumed you'd end up doing something like this.  I'm just glad I finally get to be a part of it."

"Part of it?  Whoa, Phoebe girl, um, I mean," Helga rubbed the back of her neck and looked at the floor again, "You really can't be involved here."

Phoebe laughed.  "Don't be silly Helga."

"No I mean it.  This is dangerous stuff.  Besides, I've already broken every rule known to the Agency just by telling you what happened.  You need to just forget everything I've told you.  In fact, forget I was even here.  I should get back to work.  Assuming I even still have a job."  She got up to gather her things but was blocked by her friend.

"Listen Pheebs—"

"No, you listen Helga.  I'm your best friend.  You're in trouble. Gerald's in trouble.  There's no way—"

"Wait a sec.  How'd you know about Gerald?"

"You keep talking about your partner.  You're obviously worried about him, and Arnold told me you and Gerald lived in the same area.  It was a logical conclusion."

Helga blinked.  "Phoebe, you amaze me."

Phoebe blushed lightly and started to say something else when Helga's cell rang.

"Hello?  Oh, hi Moria."  _Time to lie my butt off.  "Back to English I see—what?  Yes, I'm fine.  No, I don't know where he is, he wasn't with me.  Rule breaking?  I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.  Gerald and I would never do anything without the express permission of—"  There was a pause while Helga frowned at the noises coming from the phone.  "Now look Moria.  I don't know anything about some fiasco that happened at the shipping docks all the way in New York.  I was in New Jersey, for crying out loud.  No I'm not there now, our position was compromised so we split up and left.  I haven't heard from him since…no.  No.  Ok.  No."  She smiled.  "Alright.  I'll be awaiting further orders.  Good luck figuring out what happened.  No Moria," Helga looked at the still grinning Phoebe, "No one else knows about this."_

*********************

"Um, Helga?  You may not want to touch that."

Helga drew back her hand from the strange metal device she was investigating and looked at Phoebe.  "Why, what is it?" she asked, and then stifled a yelp as a small furry white creature appeared and sniffed at her from inside the object.

"It's the door to the rat cage.  I designed it to open quickly if I needed to get to a rat having a reaction to a product.  Once, while I was testing the versatility of—"

"Pheebs?  Let's not talk about it ok?"

Phoebe smiled slightly and turned back to what she was doing.

They were on the top floor of the Colic-Hyerdhaul Laboratory, in Phoebe's personal lab.  The sun was setting outside, casting odd streaks of color on the small glass tube, now inside a larger glass container.  Phoebe was preparing to open the tube and test the greenish contents inside.

"Ready?"

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Helga somewhat nervously.

"You want to find out what this is, don't you?"

"Actually, no, I don't.  I know it's dangerous, and that's really enough for me."

"But Helga,"  Phoebe was shocked, "Think of what we could learn from this, even if it is deadly!  This could be the beginnings of a new type of weapon, and we could be the ones to find a counter attack!  Or a cure, if this is some kind of germ warfare.  Or a way to neutralize the weapon completely!"  Her face practically shone with delight at the thought.

Helga shook her head.  "I still say it's a bad idea to mess with it.  But you're the genius, Phoebe."  She pulled over a rolling chair and sat down…not too near the container.

After a short but somewhat heated argument, Helga had finally given in to Phoebe's insistence on being involved.  And, since Helga could hardly bring the Hot Air tube to the CIA without having to explain where she got it, (and, consequently, probably not be employed by the CIA any longer) she agreed that the best place to bring it was Phoebe's lab.  She was going to have to bring the sample in eventually, but she knew better than to test Moria's patience right now.  _Maybe she'll be calm enough in a week.  And by then, Phoebe will have figured this thing out, and I'll have my ticket back into her good graces.  Hopefully._

"Ok," Phoebe took a deep breath, and Helga tensed visibly, "Here we go."  She moved the cylinder into position inside the box, and using a safety arm lifted off the cover.

Nothing happened.  Phoebe let out her breath and inserted a probe into the tube for preliminary testing.

"So now what?" asked an impatient Helga.

"First, we have to determine the composition of the solution, which should help us in discovering any harmful effects.  Then, I should really run a test for radioactivity before I can begin to have fun with—"

"On second thought Pheebs, don't tell me.  I'm nervous enough already."

Helga's cell rang again, and she clicked on her phone and frowned at it.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't recognize the number."  Helga's forehead was screwed up in thought.

"Should you answer it then?"

Helga shrugged and pressed the talk button.  "Hello?"

A breath of air was let out on the other end of the line, making Helga think she had a prank caller until a voice added, "I take it you're alive then?"

_So are you.  Thank God.  "No Gerald, they let me bring my cell to the next world.  It's a perk from being the daughter of Big Bob."_

"Funny."

"I thought so.  You ok?"

"Yeah.  You?"

"Yeah."

There was silence for a moment, and Helga conveyed to Phoebe through sign language who she was talking to.  Phoebe smiled and went back to her tests.

"Did you talk to Simon yet?" Helga asked.

"No."

"Deny everything."

"Gotcha.  I take it things haven't gone exactly according to plan?"

"What plan?"

"True.  What about the you-know-what?"

Helga looked over at Phoebe, who was studying her computer screen with an odd look on her face.  "It's in good hands.  Not mine."

Gerald was surprised.  "Moria took it after that mess?"

"No."

There was another pause, then Gerald said, "Don't tell me then, at least not over a cell phone.  I think we need to meet up somewhere."

"I agree.  Any suggestions?"

"Like Italian?"  _Man Gerald, did that ever sound like a line.  And on Helga G. Pataki, no less._

"Sure."

"I know the perfect place."

They arranged their meeting, and both hung up their cells.  If they had been paying more attention, they might have heard the tiny click as a third person hung up.

******************

Arnold was also on the phone, but he hung up as he once again got an answering machine message.  Phoebe was probably working late, enjoying her solitary lab privileges.  He had her work number, but didn't want to bother her there.  He didn't really have anything to say anyway, just needed to talk to an understanding soul.

Arnold ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had picked up lately whenever he was frustrated.  And tonight, he was very, very frustrated.  He got up from his bed and went downstairs to find some sort of snack and get away from his painting.

_Paint Christmas, Mrs. Vitello had said.  It had seemed easy at the time.  But he just didn't feel like Christmas.  He knew this was his first real chance to make a name for himself, and he didn't want to just paint Santa or a Christmas tree or even some kind of intricate snowflake.  He wanted to paint __Christmas.  He just didn't know how.  He wasn't inspired._

He paused in the middle of getting pastrami out of the fridge when the phone rang.  He had left messages on several friend's machines, so he hurried over to the phone in the hall.

"Hello?"

"Hey Arnold."

"Oh, hi Stinky.  How are you?"

"I'm doing just dandy on my end.  But it must be you with the problem, seeing as you left a humdinger of a depressed sounding message on this here machine," Stinky drawled in his usual direct way.

"Sort of.  I'm kind of stuck on a painting."

"I'm sorry to hear that Arnold.  Hey, maybe you should paint a picture of my pumpkin patch!  I've got a whole lotta juicy pumpkins this season—"

"Thanks Stinky, but I'm supposed to be painting a Christmas scene."

"Well I don't want to be the judge of anyone," a slightly stern tone came into Stinky's voice, "But it sure ain't Christmas without pumpkins.  'Sides, it's not nearly Thanksgiving yet.  What you want to be painting Christmas for this early?"

"I guess you're right.  It's not like it has to be done today.  I'm just a little frustrated."

"I understand frustration, alright.  Why, my one pumpkin I was growing…"

They talked about frustration and pumpkins for a few minutes more, then Stinky somehow got on the subject of lemon puddin', which lasted them another fifteen minutes or so.  Arnold was about to make an excuse and hang up when Stinky mentioned something else.

"Actually Arnold, I'm right glad you called this evening."

"Why's that, Stinky?"

"You recall my saying I was growin' a pumpkin patch?"

"Um, yes."

"Well it's doing mighty fine this year, and my thinking is, if it keeps on doing this well, I'm going to buy myself a pumpkin farm."

"Wow, that's great Stinky!  Then you can make a living doing something you enjoy!"

"Yep, and I won't have to work in no second-hand shop no more, neither.  I figure it'll take me about a year to raise up the money for it, then I'm moving out!"  Stinky was silent for a moment, then added, "I just wish I didn't have to do it alone, Arnold."

Arnold was afraid he knew what was coming.  "Listen Stinky, I'm glad you're doing so well, but I have responsibilities here and—"

"Oh I wasn't talking about you Arnold.  No, I was thinking of someone who might enjoy farming like I have.  Only problem is, there ain't no one around here who enjoys it like I do.  Too bad Miss Lila went and married that strange dull-as-dirt cousin of yours."

Now Arnold definitely wanted to get off the phone.  "Yeah Stinky.  Well I hope you find someone.  You've got some time."

"You know, I never did figure what Miss Lila saw in that—"

"Goodnight Stinky."  Arnold hung up and started back up the stairs to his room.  He wasn't hungry anymore, and that painting was still bothering him.

"That painting", as he was beginning to internally call it, was in the middle of his room waiting for him when he got back.  It was about halfway finished – the outline was sketched, and some of the colors were filled in.  The scene was of a snow-covered street, and a little blond-haired boy trudged along it, as if Christmas meant nothing to him.  But above the street, steering the little boy, was a beautiful angel, the Spirit of Christmas reaching out even to this boy, whom everyone else had abandoned.

Well, that's what it would be, if he could just get the angel right.  It looked wrong up there, the lines were unflattering, the colors clashed, and she was hanging oppressively above the boy like a parade balloon gone wrong.  The faint tint of her dress looked swamp green, her long crimson locks were blood red – it was just all wrong, and he couldn't make it right.  He felt like growling at the painting, but decided that probably wouldn't help matters.  Instead he took it off his easel and jammed it in the back of his closet, where hopefully he wouldn't have to see it again.  He put a blank canvas in its place, and tried to think Christamas-y thoughts.  He drew a couple different ideas on a scrap piece of paper, then gave up and decided on an early bedtime.

_Oh well, he thought as he drifted off, __maybe I'll be inspired tomorrow.  But somehow, he didn't really think so._

A/N:  This chapter was supposed to be quite a bit longer, but I felt sorry for ya'll having to wait this long so I decided to post this as it is and make the next chapter longer.  I'm really sorry I've been behind lately, real life has just been nuts.  I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. ~PJ

Miss Matched:  Japanese, hmmmm…  I'll keep that one in mind.  ::lives off of kudos bars in a desperate attempt to finish the next few chapters::

TADAH:  Another chapter!  Hopefully the next won't be so long a wait…

Rachael West:  Huh, actually I was thinking of another defenestration, though that would have been an interesting touch also.  Go to www.m-w.com and look it up to see what I was talking about.  :)  I promise it's worth it.

Jacquleine Schaeffer:  I'm afraid some of your questions won't be answered for quite a while…but they all will be eventually, honest!  :)

DropsOfJupiter:  I love long reviews!  (who doesn't?)  Yay, thanks!  Heh, I'm a grad now so summer doesn't matter much to me…though really every day is like summer right now since I'm still job-less, ugh.  Summer with no money anyway!  I will say that it is *not* Dr. Bliss.  I can say that for certain since I already wrote him as a male.  :)  Stinky's Pumpkin showed up slightly again this chapter…as did the Arteest, briefly anyway.  Happy?  :)

Sennical:  Well if I ran the world, *I* would have access to that kind of technology.  Kind of obvious that I don't, huh?  Oh well, a girl can dream.

pokey:  Lol, why thank you.  :)


	11. In Which Phil Attempts to Redeem Himself

Chapter 10

In Which Phil Attempts to Redeem Himself

Gerald pulled finally into the crowded parking lot and amazingly found a space only about two blocks away from the restaurant.  He checked his newly-fixed watch.  _Huh, I made pretty good time for DC from __New York__.  Helga found him before he got out of the car._

            "Nice wheels, Geraldo."  She scanned the black, shiny new Mustang with appreciation.

            "Thanks.  They're a loaner from an old friend.  Where's your car?"  He looked around for something pink.

            "In storage with the rest of the stuff from my apartment.  Moria took care of it."

            "So how'd you get here?"

            "Jet, bus, truck drivers, the usual.  I'm hoping you'll give me a ride to wherever we're going next though."

            "Sure, no problem."

            They walked towards the restaurant (_The Italian in All of Us) in silence.  Gerald kept glancing at Helga, who was still wearing her jeans and pink t-shirt she had put on that morning.  She'd left her hair down and he was surprised to see that it brushed past her waist, much longer than he would have thought._

            "Take a picture, Geraldo, it'll last longer."

            Gerald blinked.  "Sorry, I've just never seen you in jeans before."

            Helga looked at Gerald in his suit Mr. Smith had given him.  "This place doesn't have a dress code, does it?"

            "Naw, I'm probably over-dressed actually."  He shifted a bit and straightened his tie.

            Helga shrugged.  "You look good in suits."

            "I know."  Helga gave him a look.  "Erm, I mean, thank you?"

            "Better."

            Gerald had made reservations earlier, and they were seated almost as soon as they got inside.  Helga scanned the beverages.

            "Figures, the only tea they have is iced.  Guess I'll be drinking water tonight."

            "They have coffee."

            "No thanks."

            Helga closed her menu and got up.  "Order for me will you?  I just want a lasagna and water."

            "Where are you going?"

            "Ladies' room.  Be back in a sec."  She turned around and headed towards the back of the restaurant.

            The waiter appeared soon after.  Gerald ordered for Helga and got an alfredo for himself.

            "And to drink, sir?"

            "Coffee and…actually, make that two coffees.  The lady likes hers black.  And really really strong."

            The waiter nodded and left, just as Gerald saw Helga heading back towards him.  He smiled at her.

***********

            It was a tiny office room, but very neat and clean, which was unusual considering the part of town it was located in.  A large man sat in a rolling chair with a pad of paper and a pen in his hands, scribbling notes.  The pad had a design of kittens playing with yarn on it.  The real kittens in the room were busy shredding the curtains.

            Other than the kittens, the man and the chair, the only other object in the room was a large table, almost too big to fit in the room.  It was covered with wires, cassette tapes, 8-tracks, mini-disks, and various equipment of all kinds.  Some of the equipment was hooked together in a haphazard fashion to a cassette recorder.  This had switched on by itself a moment ago, and was the reason the man was now taking notes.  He turned up a speaker and listened.

            "…can't believe you wouldn't let me change out of these jeans!  I'd be a lot more comfortable in a pants suit.  I feel under-dressed and Tall Hair Boy can't keep his eyes off me, like I'm a pod person or something."

            "Chanting Hare Krishna and spinning nickels?"

            "Are you making fun of me?"

            "Never.  It's just that I think it's entirely possible that is not the reason he is staring at you, Helga."

            Helga ignored this comment.  "I mean, he's here in a suit, for crying out loud!"

            "Your suit isn't dry yet.  How is Gerald?  Ok?"

            "Yeah yeah, he looks great, typical.  Goes through a near-death experience and comes out in a suit, driving a Mustang.  Meanwhile I'm a mess, and I didn't even fall off a ship."

            "You're not saying this in front of him, are you?"

            "Of course not.  I told him I was going to the restroom.  I'd better get back though.  Oh, how's the project going?"

            The man stopped writing and listened intently.

            "Not so good.  I don't know what you think this stuff is, Helga, but right now I can't find anything dangerous enough to put a warning label on if I were to sell it at the grocer.  It's like a health drink, made up of mostly plant-like substances that I can't really identify.  I could feed it to my rat and he'd probably smack his lips and ask for more."

            "Well keep looking.  Bad guys don't smuggle in health drinks."

            "Looking." Phoebe replied without thinking, then laughed.

            "You haven't done that in a while."

            "No, I haven't.  I've missed you Helga."

            "I missed you too Pheebs.  I gotta get back to dinner."

            "Right.  Talk to you later."

            "Bye Phoebe."

            There was a click, and the machine stopped recording.  The man made a note for himself.  _Find Phoebe._

_            Helga made her way back to the table.  The waiter was just leaving, and Gerald turned and smiled at her.  He had a nice smile, but it made Helga feel a bit funny to see it.  She raised an eyebrow at him.  __You look too angelic.  What have you been plotting?_

**************

            "…and so, Phoebe ended up with it.  But I just talked to her, and she said the stuff is as dangerous as one of Mr. Simmon's granola bars.  She can't find anything wrong with it."

            Gerald frowned and sat back at the table, thinking.  The dining room was pretty much deserted by now, in fact Gerald and Helga were the last lingering customers there.  Their meals had been cleared away (Helga's coffee went untouched, although she had threatened to pour it on him) and their waiter had pointedly placed their check on the table half-an-hour ago.

            "So what do you think, then?" he asked her.

            "No idea.  Maybe it was a decoy, who knows.  I told Pheebs not to stop testing it though.  She may yet find something."

            Gerald nodded.  _Hot Air…what does that mean, exactly?  Is it a clue to what this stuff does?  He thought about it for a minute but gave up quickly.  __Oh well, if anyone can find out, Phoebe can.  _

            Helga was watching the last few employees hanging around waiting for them to leave.  "I think we should probably get going."

            "Yeah, you're right.  I'll get the check."

            Helga bristled.  "This isn't a date, _Geraldo.  I can pay for my own meal."_

            Gerald frowned at her.  "I wasn't implying that it was, _Helga.  It's just that the staff already shut down their computers and this check isn't split, so I thought I'd make it easier on them."_

            "Fine, then I'll pay.  I get paid more than you do anyway."

            "I doubt that."

            "How much do you make?"

            "That's not the point," Gerald was getting frustrated, "Look, no girl is going to pay for my dinner!"

            He realized as soon as he said it that it was a mistake.  Helga's eyes flashed, and for a second he imagined that they were back in fourth grade and he was about to meet up with Old Betsy.  Then she took a deep breath, her face changed to a stony expression, and she pushed the check towards him.

            "Fine.  I'll be outside."  She got up and left without looking back at him.

            _Nice going Geraldo, Gerald thought to himself as he paid a tired-looking cashier, __Could I have picked a stupider thing to – wait, Geraldo??  Oh great, now she's got me saying it!_

_            Helga was standing with her arms crossed outside, obviously trying to cool off.  Gerald approached her cautiously and stood next to her without speaking.  She didn't look at him.  After a few minutes, Gerald started to get antsy._

            "Helga—"

            "You folks waiting for your car?"

            Gerald looked around.  A red-headed high-school student was in front of him.  He was wearing the red shirt and black shorts of a valet.  

            "When did this place start offering valet service?"

            "About 8 o'clock," the valet quipped, grinning.  "Actually they just started the idea last week.  I'm about to go home, but I can get your car for you if you like."

            "Um," Gerald glanced at Helga, but she didn't look like she was moving towards the parking lot anytime soon.  He gave in.  "Ok.  It's the black—"

            "Mustang.  I know, it's the only one in the lot that doesn't belong to an employee."  He took the keys Gerald gave him and headed off, calling over his shoulder, "Back in just a second folks!"

            When he was out of earshot, Gerald tried again.  "Helga, I'm sorry."  She didn't say anything, but she didn't hit him either so he decided to continue.  "I don't know why I said that.  It was stupid.  I've had girls pay for my dinner before, no big deal.  I mean, I don't even think of you as a girl."  _Oh yeah, that'll help.  "I mean I do think of you as a girl, not that I'm thinking about you at all, but when you do happen to cross my mind I know you're a girl."  Helga turned her head and gave him a very odd look.  "Um, but that's not the point, is it?  The point is…" he trailed off.  "Just…I'm sorry."_

            At first he thought she was shaking in anger.  Then he thought maybe she was crying.  It wasn't until she let out a giggle that he realized she was laughing.  Hard.  He frowned.

            "What's so funny?"

            Helga paused for breath and managed to choke out an answer.  "You, that's what.  Mr. I-never-lose-my-cool Johansson stumbling over his words?"  She kept laughing.

            Gerald folded his arms and waited for her to finish.  When she had gotten control of herself, he stuck out his hand.

            "Friends?"

            She hesitated, then shook his hand.  "Friends it is, Tall Hair Boy."  

            Gerald let go of her hand and turned his eyes towards the lot.  The Mustang was rolling towards them, and as he watched the valet opened a window and waved at them.  Gerald smiled slightly.  _Man's best friend is his car.  The valet pulled up in front of them, opened the driver side door and started to get out of the car._

            Gerald was never sure later how he heard the tiny click as the valet got up from his seat, or how he knew immediately what it was.  But suddenly he was throwing himself at Helga, hitting the cement ground and rolling to the side, away from the fireball erupting out of the Mustang's engine.

            Everything seemed in slow motion.  He saw the valet's eyes growing wide for a split second before the impact hit him.  Flames burst like a twisted ballet out of every available exit in the car.  He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, a strange sound mixed with Helga's screams.  Then they hit the ground with a disturbing _CRACK, they were rolling off the cement onto the dirt, they were out of range from the flames.  They were safe._

            Gerald lay in the dirt, half on top of Helga, trying to regain control of his breathing.  The Mustang was like a bonfire of burning metal just a few feet away from them.  He couldn't see the valet.  He wasn't sure he wanted to.

            "Gerald?" came a small voice beside him.

            "Yeah?" he answered, and his voice seemed even smaller to him.

            "Are we alive?"

            "I'm not sure yet."

            He checked to see if he could move, and, finding that he could, got up and then helped Helga to get up also.  They stood there for a moment, watching the flames.  Then it hit Helga.

            "Gerald," she grabbed his shoulder and he tore his eyes away to look at her.  

            "Gerald, _they know where we are."_

            Gerald's heart, which he had been trying to get to stop pounding, now stopped completely.  He took one last glance at the car, grabbed Helga's hand and said just one word.

            "Run."

A/N  This is shorter, yes, but it's here!  I'll try to get chapter 11 out soon, don't want to leave ya'll hanging *too* long…  :)  ~PJ

Maxine:  Actually, I read that fic.  I liked it, I thought you did pretty well with their characters.  The only thing I didn't like was that I thought Arnold forgave her awful fast…but then again he is a pretty special guy.  :)

DropsofJupiter:  Yay!  Someone understood the angel!  I wasn't sure if that was obvious or not this time around…although that painting will show up again later.

miss amyami:  Hmm…yes…have you been getting into my Kudos bar stash?

pokey:  Understood, lol.  Computers can be a pain sometimes.  Thanks for taking the time to review though, I appreciate all of them, even one or two word ones.  :)

TaDah:  Whoo hoo!  Not much of a wait for once!  Yay!

Jacquleine Schaeffer:  Another chapter "cranked" out.  And just as you reviewed, too.  I'm proud of myself.  :)   This one will probably prompt more questions than answer them though, sorry…


	12. In Which We Get a Bit Mushy

Chapter 11

In Which We Get a Bit Mushy

            Phoebe was in a hurry.  She brushed through her cropped hair one more time with one hand while feeling the dresser searching for her pearl earring with the other.  She stopped a second and looked at her alarm clock.  The party was in fifteen minutes.  She groaned and scurried to her closet to grab some heels.

            Her co-partner and sometime boyfriend, Dr. Edward Colic, had arrived to pick her up for the annual Science Leaders of America Banquet about half-an-hour ago.  The only problem was that Phoebe, who was usually so punctual, had forgotten all about it.  She was too occupied with her current project, that is, figuring out this "hot air".  

            _What else can I do to it? she wondered as she struggled to put on her shoes.  __I've tried every test I could think of.  What am I missing?  Is there a further analysis I should have attempted?  It appears to be mostly plant life, but all of the samples come up unidentifiable for our computer system.  What next?  She glanced in the mirror, smoothed her dress slightly, grabbed her coat off a chair and headed downstairs._

            Edward was waiting for her.  She walked over to him and smiled when he leaned down to kiss her forehead.  He took a step back and stared at her.  Phoebe blushed.

            "What are you looking at?"

            "You.  You're stunning."  Phoebe ducked her head shyly.

            "You've also got your dress on backwards."

            Phoebe blinked and looked down.  Sure enough, the zipper on her crushed velvet purple shift was in front.  _Where is my head?  She made a move to go back upstairs._

            "No don't change.  I like it that way."  Edward grinned and slipped his arms around Phoebe.

            "I just don't know how I managed that." she told him, frustrated.

            "Me neither.  I wouldn't have thought it possible.  So what's on your mind?  It has to be something big for you to lose your focus like this.  I thought you were looking forward to this banquet."

            "I was—am.  I just…" Phoebe shook her head firmly.  "No, I'm sorry.  I was just thinking about a project I've been working on.  I'll go get changed and then we'll have a wonderful time at the banquet, I promise."

            Edward seemed to contemplate her for a moment, then he in turn shook his head.  "Miss Hyerdahl, you're obviously not prepared to go anywhere tonight, expect perhaps back to the lab.  I forbid you to come with me.  How can you enjoy the party if you can't even concentrate on it?"

            Phoebe started to protest, but suddenly she blinked at him and her eyes grew wide.  Dr. Colic smiled at her.

            "I know that look.  Whatever world-wide problem you've just solved in your mind, be sure to tell me about it when you're finished, ok?  And don't disavow all knowledge of me when you become rich and famous."  He let go of her and turned to leave.  A pang of guilt struck Phoebe.

            "What will you do?" she asked.

            He sighed.  "Oh, don't worry about me.  I'll just go wander the moors for a while, calling 'Phoebe!  Phoebe!' over the echoing hills."  He snapped out of it and looked at her.  "Either that or spend the night with a good book.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Don't forget to change out of that dress before you go to the lab, you wouldn't want to ruin it."  He blew her a kiss and left, ducking under Phoebe's smaller-than-average doorframe as he went.

            Phoebe didn't waste a second.  She dashed upstairs to change.

*******************

            Atlanta Hartsfield International Airport boasts of being the busiest airport in the US.  (Why they would want to boast about this remains beyond the understanding of the other airports.)  The International Concourse was no exception.  People were bustling everywhere, hurrying to catch their flights after being held up for hours at security.  Harried airport staff tried to satisfy the people who hadn't made their flights, and a few early birds waited at the gates for their planes to arrive.

            Brenda Halloway was tired of it all.  She had been working for Delta Airlines for almost five years now.  Five years of standing behind a counter dealing with stupid people who blamed her for their being late.  Five years of explaining that an expired boarding pass could not be exchanged for a first-class ticket.  Five years of politely telling the coach-class businessman why the woman with three screaming children was allowed to board before he was.  Five years too long.

            Of course, since 9/11 she had had to answer a whole new range of questions.  "Why do you have to check my bag?"  "Do I **look like a terrorist?"  "Look at _him!  What don't you pull __him aside?"  Just last week she had had to take away a pair of metal knitting needles from a grandmother-type – who then proceeded to swear at her for a full fifteen minutes until she was forced to summon security.  And everyone looked at Brenda as if it was her fault.  She didn't write the security procedures, for crying out loud!  And it was getting worse.  The memo today said they were all required to watch a video on recognizing suspicious characters tomorrow during lunch hour._**

            Although suddenly Brenda was wishing that she had already seen it.  She was stationed at Gate 23, which had so far today been a departure to Tokyo, an arrival from London, and a delayed departure to Toronto which was eventually cancelled.  Right now she was waiting on an arrival from Paris, which was also delayed.  A half-dozen people were slouched in the gate chairs, waiting for it.

            But two of those people were not waiting for the Paris flight.  Brenda knew this because they had been there since early this morning, before 7 when she had begun her shift.  It was four o'clock now, and they hadn't moved from their seats except to get a drink or something to eat.  A black man and a blonde woman.  Actually quite a nice-looking pair, Brenda thought.  They had to have plane tickets to have gotten past security, but it was obvious that they weren't waiting for any flight.  What were they doing here?  Should she report this to someone?

            Gerald glanced casually towards the gate information desk, then looked at the floor while muttering to Helga, "That airline lady is staring at us again."

            Helga sighed and crossed her legs.  "Well maybe if you didn't look at her so much…"

            "It's not me.  I think she's suspicious of us."

            "Here, I'll go tell her what's going on."

            "Oh yeah, you go flashing your badge in her face, that'll make her less nervous."

            "Well what do you suggest, Geraldo?  Find a new place to sit?"

            "Naw, she'd probably alert security to be watching for us.  We just need to act normally."

            "Gerald, we've been up all night.  Someone's trying to kill us.  We're sitting here trying to figure out who they are and how to stop them.  In our spare time, we also need to find somewhere safe to hide.  Under the circumstances, I think I'm acting as normal as I possibly can."

            Gerald looked at his companion.  Helga had folded her arms across her chest and was glaring holes in the opposite wall.  There were deep shadows under her eyes and he noticed that her left eye was starting to twitch.  Both of them looked as though they had slept all night in the clothes they were wearing – which was only half true, as they had been wearing the same clothes since last evening (longer for Helga) but neither had gotten any sleep.  _Running for your life tends to do that to you.  All in all, he was surprised security hadn't picked them up already.  He checked his watch, then his cell phone.  Simon hadn't tried to call, which was good because Gerald didn't plan on talking to him.  He didn't know where the information leak was, but somehow someone had found out where he and Helga would be last night.  And as that person had then tried to kill them, he didn't want to take any chances.  Fortunately Moria hadn't tried to call Helga yet either.  He looked at Helga again.  She had now begun to scowl at the wall as well._

            "This won't do.  Look, Helga," he pleaded with her, "You have to relax."

            "I'm relaxed."

            "Yeah, like a porcupine with a rash.  Stop looking at the wall like that; what'd it ever do to you?"

            She turned her glare on him.  "You got a better idea?"

            "Just flow with me."

            "Huh?"

            Gerald suddenly had a wicked thought.  _Heh__, she's gonna kill me.  He relaxed, stretched, and casually put an arm around Helga._

            She froze.  He watched with a masochistic fascination as her facial features twisted with Helga's attempts to get a handle on her rage.  Finally successful, she put on a nice-but-fake smile and rested her head on Gerald's shoulder.  Out of the corner of her mouth she whispered, "You're dead, you do realize that, right?"

            "Got the airline lady to stop staring at us."

            Helga scoffed.  "Bet you twenty bucks she's back at it in five minutes."

            "You're on."

            "So where do we go from here?"  Helga attempted to continue discussing a plan while ignoring the way Gerald's fingers brushed against her arm.

            "Well, you'll have to move to DC."

            "What?  Why?"

            "Because long-distance relationships never seem to—" he cut himself off in a gasp of pain as Helga jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

            "Ouch!  That hurt!"

            "Good."  She smiled innocently up at him.  The fluorescent lights above them made his face stand out in profile.  Without thinking she said, "I like your hair like that.  Shorter, I mean.  You can see your eyes more."

            "Was that a come-on?" 

            She rolled her eyes.  "Dream on, Ger—"  Her cell phone rang, making both of them jump.  Gerald let go of her as she looked to see who it was.

            "Don't answer it."

            "I'm not."  She got up and headed towards the pay phones.  She could feel the airline lady's eyes on her.  "And you owe me a twenty."

            "That's not fa -- wait, who is it?  Don't talk to Moria!"

            "Calm down Tall Hair Boy.  It's Phoebe."  At that, Gerald got up and followed her to the phones.  Helga waited for her cell to stop ringing, then called Phoebe at the lab, positioning the receiver so that Gerald could hear too.

            "Hello?" said a tired voice.

            "Pheebs, it's me.  I can't talk on my cell right now, I'm on a pay phone.  What's up?"

            "Helga?  What's wrong with your cell?"

            "Nothing, except that someone may be listening in on it."  Helga took a quick look around to see if anyone was paying attention to her, then added a bit softer, "Gerald's car was blown to bits last night."

            "Oh my--  Are you serious?  Are you guys ok?  Where are you now?"

            "It's ok Pheebs, we're safe." Gerald raised an eyebrow at her, and Helga shrugged in response.  "We just need to take a few extra precautions is all.  But you didn't call to ask if Gerald's car blew up."

            "No, but…Helga are sure you—"

            "Criminy, Pheebs!" Helga's nerves were already worn thin, "Just tell me why you called, I don't have much time here!"

            "Sorry," Phoebe said quickly, "I'm just worried about you.  But ok, I've been up all night but I think I've finally gotten somewhere with the sample you gave me."

            "Yeah?  Not a health drink after all huh?"

            "Not exactly.  I'm still not sure what it does, like I said it is primarily plant life.  But I noticed something unusual about the plants.  Well, it's not unusual really, especially when it just occurs in one plant but when you take it from all the plants involved, the chances of it being accidental in such a substance are so small that—"

            "Phoebe?  Could you hurry it up a little?"

            "Right.  Well simply put, it's plutonium."

            "What?  In a plant?"

            "Yes.  It's perfectly natural for it to occur in certain foliage, that and traces of uranium are found all the time.  Of course we're talking about miniscule amounts here, nothing that could possibly be a danger, although I noticed that all of the plant species involved in the sample have relatively high concentrations of it.  So, I put all the ratios of all the separate plants I identified together and ran a reading of the relative concentration of plutonium versus the other various plant matter.  And it's off the charts.  Small enough not to show up in a normal scan, but if you know what you're looking for…but it's not radioactive.  And I don't mean not enough to hurt someone, I mean not at all.  Which isn't, as far as we know, actually possible.  My guess is that something in the plants is serving as a dampening effect on the radioactivity, rendering the substance perfectly safe."

            Helga waited for Phoebe to take a breath, then asked, "So what is that in English Pheebs?"

            "Right now, it's a health drink.  Without the extra plant substances, it could be a bomb."

            "Gotcha.  Bad stuff then."

            "The thing is," Phoebe sounded slightly confused, "I feel like I'm missing something here.  I mean, I can certainly see the potential for masking plutonium with biological substances, but why liquefy it?  For a traditional bomb, the plutonium would need to be solid.  It seems an entirely unnecessary step to take.  And why call it hot _air?  Why not hot water or hot liquid?"_

            "Doesn't sound as cool.  Ok Pheebs, well thanks for the heads up.  If you need to contact me again, don't call my cell.  Here's the number of my beeper," she gave it to her, then added, "I never use it, in fact I only got it last week, and they won't be able to trace it.  I'll find a way to call you back."

            "Ok Helga.  I'll keep working on this and let you know if something else comes up.  And be careful, ok?"

            "You got it Pheebs.  You be careful too, I don't want to read anything in the papers tomorrow about a lab explosion."  Phoebe laughed, and Helga half-smiled.  "See ya soon."  

Helga handed the phone to Gerald, who hung it up.  Before he took his hand off the phone, however, it began to ring.  Gerald stared at it.  Helga stared at it.

            "It could be Phoebe."

            "It could be a wrong number.  Or the phone company could be doing a test."

            "Or it could be Phil." Helga said darkly, scowling as she said it.

            _Helga's a lot nicer when she gets a full night's sleep.  Gerald shrugged at her and picked up the phone._

            "Hello?"

            "Hello Gerald." a voice whispered.

A/N:  I'm already working on the next chapter – this is another case of, "well this chapter was supposed to be longer but I've already taken too long to write it so I'll split it in half".  So hopefully I'll put up the next this weekend.

Well I'm about 3/4 of the way through this now.  Scary isn't it, that I still have a whole 1/4 to go and I'm at how many words now?  Oy.  Oh, and I'm over 60 reviews!  Wow!  Ya'll are so cool, thanks!

Are you good with drawing, or computer graphics?  I'd like to display your pictures!  See my profile for details.

Don't forget to check out Miss Matched's Hey Arnold Fanfic Awards!  Just check out the end of any of her fics for details.  (Speaking of which, I should probably practice what I preach and go vote myself…)

Miss Matched:  What, no Kudos?  No wonder I took so long to get this out, lol.  Just kidding of course, thanks for the encouragement.  :)  And the FGWK (Fat Guy With Kitties) will be back next chapter.  He scares me too.

nfg-babe33:  More H/G in this chapter…but will it last?  ;)

pokey:  Thanks :)

Maxine:  Well, nothing's happened to them…yet…  I'll try to get the next one out quicker, honest!  :)

miss amyami:  I'm not even going to ask about the rat thing…but I like the Olive Garden too.  :)

DropsofJupiter:  Feel free to blame me for any bad grades in Pre-Calc.  Or my mom (she's a math teacher).  But then, to be fair, shouldn't I get credit for any good grades in English?  ;)  There's a lot of plot questions in this batch of reviews…sadly, I must refrain from answering them…except to say that several of your questions will not be answered until the next story.  Sorry…::ducks tomatoes::

Sennical:  Cell phones are *never* secure.  Anyone who knows what they're looking for can tap into one without ever touching the phone itself.  Sorry, I'm not giving out written instructions.  ;)  I will however exclusively reveal that love polygons may…or may not…be forming.  Helpful, aren't I?

TaDah:  I feel Gerald's pain.  It hurt to write that part.  The poor Mustang…it was so young…

Rachael West:  I think I'm the one who was confused!  My apologies, yes I was speaking of this definition:  a throwing of a person or thing out of a window.  Such a great word.  And thanks for the rave review as well, grin.


	13. In Which the Jungle Beckons

Chapter 12

In Which the Jungle Beckons

            "Hello Gerald" a voice whispered.

            _Oh great, another mysterious being bent on either helping or hurting me.  I swear I'm caught in a Purdy Boy's novel.  "Who is this?" Gerald asked bluntly.  He was tired of playing games._

            "Mr. Smith." the voice replied calmly.

            "And how am I supposed to believe that?"

            "Remember the Mustang?"

            "How could I forget?" he answered fervently.

            "You still have the keys."  It was not a question.

            Gerald narrowed his eyes while Helga raised an eyebrow at him.  (She had tilted the phone in her direction so she could hear too.)  He fished the keys out of his pocket and glanced at them longingly.

            "So?"

            "I placed a homing device in them.  Just in case."

            Gerald handed the phone to Helga so he could use both hands to examine the keys.  Sure enough, as he pried open the plastic key chain he saw a computer chip and a tiny blinking light.  He showed it to Helga and took the phone back.

            "Ok, so I take it you know what happened."

            "Yes."

            "Any sage advice?"

            There was a pause.  "Have you read the contents of the document I gave you?"

            Gerald had skimmed it, but it was too technical for him to understand.  "Sure, I practically memorized the thing."

            "Then you should know what to do."

            "Right.  Of course.  Say," Gerald smoothed his goatee with his hand in what he considered a thoughtful manner, "You don't suppose you could summarize the document for me?  As an extra assurance that you are who you say you are?"

            If he didn't know Mr. Smith was too cool to do something like that, Gerald would have sworn he had heard him slap his forehead.

            "So you didn't read the document."

            "Ah, no.  Not exactly, no."

            "I will refrain from mentioning how long it took me to compile it.  Perhaps I should speak to your female companion.  I understand that she is more technologically capable of—"

            Helga stifled a giggle.  "Hey now man, that cuts deep.  Besides, I didn't show it to her yet."

            "Then allow me to put this to you in terms that you will understand.  You are currently in an airport.  Get on a plane.  Go to Brazil.  There will—"

            "Did you just say Brazil?"

            "Go to Brazil." said Mr. Smith patiently, "There will be someone waiting for you."

            "An agent?  We're not sure where the leak is, Mr. Smith, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't involve the agency at this point – and are you sure we need to go to Brazil?"

            "Not an agent, Mr. Johansson."  _Is he mocking me?  "A personal friend of mine who happens to be close to the situation in that area.  She will direct you from there.  That is all.  Get rid of the keys; the beacon is not secure, someone might stumble across it."_

            "_Brazil__?"_

            "Goodbye Gerald."  There was a click, and the phone went dead.  Helga hung it up and looked at Gerald.  Gerald just stood there, blinking.

            "He did say Brazil, didn't he?  I didn't just mishear him saying South Dakota?"

            Helga rolled her eyes and tossed the keys into a trashcan nearby, then as an afterthought threw her cell phone in also.  Then she waited while Gerald dug through the trash, separated the keys from the homing device and pocketed them.

"Sentimental value?" he told her sheepishly.

Helga chose not to address this.  "Give me your cell Gerald.  You can't use it now."

            Gerald handed it to her and watched as she threw it away.  Then he pulled himself together and squared his shoulders.  "Well then, Brazil, here we come.  Let's get a later flight, I need a shower.  And something to eat.  And we really should get some appropriate jungle clothes.  And I need coffee."

            Helga nodded until his last sentence.  "Earl Gray.  Must have Earl Gray."

            "Right.  Let's go."

            Brenda watched from her station behind the Delta airline information desk as the two suspicious characters threw something away and then walked off in a hurried fashion.  This was not good.  That was a classic bomb-setting behavior if she ever saw one.  Not that she had, but that wasn't the point.  She was about to call security when she saw Carl, one of the sanitation engineers, start to empty the can.

            "Wait!"  She hurried over to a surprised Carl.  "There may be a bomb in there," she gasped.

            Carl cocked his head and looked in the trash can.  Brenda held her breath and waited to be blown up.  Her suspicions were confirmed when the trash began ringing.

************

            "…so then I said, 'I'm terribly, terribly sorry miss, but I was talking to my wife.'"

            Nadine cracked up and hit the table with her hand.  Everyone else laughed politely.  Peapod Kid's jokes were usually no laughing matter.

            The gang – or what was left of it in Hillside – had made it a tradition to meet once a week for lunch at the docks.  There was no official invitation or anything, but whoever could make it on any given week, did.  Today Arnold, Peapod Kid and his wife Nadine, Eugene and his wife Sheena, Harold and Rhonda were present.  Today was special as they were also un-officially celebrating Harold and Rhonda's engagement.  (Rhonda's pressing social calendar hadn't allowed them to attend lunch before this.)

            In other words, all couples.  And Arnold.

            _I wish Phoebe was here.  As if reading Arnold's thoughts, Sheena spoke up.  "Where's Phoebe today?  She usually never misses our lunch."_

            "She's at the lab.  Apparently she has some huge project going that she doesn't want to leave for anything.  She's practically living there."

            Rhonda sighed and shook her head.  "That girl is never going to get married."

            All the guys looked at her incredulously.  Nadine said, "Rhonda…"

            "Well it's true!  Look at all of us.  We're the only people she hangs out with and we're all married – or soon to be at least," she glanced at Harold and smiled as she said this, "The only ones left around here are Phoebe, Stinky and Arnold.  Phoebe and Stinky…well we all know there's a bit of a clash of minds _there, no offense meant of course.  And Arnold's gay."_

            "_What?" Arnold gaped at her.  Rhonda blinked in surprise._

            "Oh come on Arnold, it's so obvious.  You're an artist.  You haven't had a date in who knows how long."

            "I haven't had a date with a guy either!"

            Rhonda shrugged.

            "Rhonda, I'm not gay!  I'm just…not interested right now."

            Rhonda snorted and folded her arms.  Arnold looked around the table for help.  Sheena giggled slightly, but everyone else was uncomfortably silent.  Arnold was disbelieving.

            "Does _everyone think I'm gay?"_

            There was another silence, and then Harold spoke up.  "Well you are into all that artsy stuff…"

            "And you are terribly, terribly sensitive." put in Peapod.

            "I don't believe this.  I'm not—"

            "Of course he isn't."  Nadine burst out.  "Rhonda you're horrible.  He isn't gay.  He just still hasn't gotten over Lila, that's all."

            Arnold wasn't sure whether to thank Nadine for this or not.  

            "Lila?" Rhonda untwisted her arms and looked over at Arnold.  "I thought you got over that _ages ago."_

            "I…" Arnold became very interested in the tablecloth.  "I…not quite." he said very quietly.

            "Oh!  Then _that explains it!  I thought—"_

            "Yeah I got that." snapped Arnold, but he regretted it immediately.  Rhonda hadn't meant any harm.  Fortunately she didn't notice his tone of voice.

            "Well then!  Maybe _Arnold__ can marry Phoebe.  They're both so nice, and—"_

            "Rhonda," Arnold was putting a stop to this right away, "Phoebe and I are just friends.  That's all."

            But Rhonda would not be put off.  "Just like her and Gerald were just friends?  "Just friends" for all of high school, but neither dated anyone else?  And then Gerald just left her—"

            "It wasn't like that.  They were going to different colleges—"

            "And I suppose it was easy to break up then.  After all, what was there to break up?"  Rhonda gestured with her fork, narrowly missing Harold, who had been about to sample her salad.  "That's why the girl will never get married."

            Sheena said thoughtfully, "I thought she was dating someone anyway?"

            "Oh I know all about that.  Her boss, or at least he was her boss until she was miraculously promoted."

            "Rhonda, if you're suggesting Phoebe used—"

            "Of course not Nadine.  Phoebe's too nice a girl to do that.  But you have to admit it is convenient for her.  I bet it won't last over two months, tops."

            "Arnold," Nadine decided to take the conversation in hand, "How is your Christmas painting going?"  Arnold tried to answer, but everyone was distracted at that point by Eugene falling off his chair, causing a waitress to trip over him and the spaghetti she was carrying to fly everywhere.

            "I'm ok…"

            They got everything cleaned up, then talked for a little while longer, but Arnold had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach from the mention of Lila.  As soon as he could, he excused himself and left to go home.

            Why couldn't he just forget about her?  She'd made it crystal clear more than enough times that she felt nothing for him, and now she was even married to his cousin.  Shouldn't there be some sort of automatic shut-off valve for a heart, so that it stopped loving someone when there was no hope?

            He trudged along the street towards the boarding house.  He didn't want to go home yet, but then he needed to get that painting done.  As he reached the front steps and put his hand on the knob, someone opened the door from the inside.

            It was Grandpa.  He had a look on his face which Arnold could not immediately place.

            "Oh…" Grandpa looked at his feet.  "Hey there Shortman, I was just going out to look for you."

            Arnold's stomach clenched suddenly, and a cold shiver washed over him.  "What's wrong Grandpa?"

            "Well I don't really know how to say this Arnold, but…" he rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess I'll just say it."  He put his hand on Arnold's shoulder.

            "Shortman, there's been an accident."

******************

            The man shifted his considerable weight in his chair, causing it to complain loudly.  One of the kittens paused in mid-scamper to look at him curiously, but was instantly distracted by a menacing piece of lint.  The lint was more than the kitten could handle by himself, so he called for backup from the other kitten, who informed him that he would be there just as soon as he finished tackling the rug.

            The man ignored the kittens.  This was unusual.  Generally he was either watching their various antics or working.  Sometimes he slept, and he also occasionally ate but he was doing none of those things now.  He was expecting a visitor.

            Impatient footsteps down the hall foretold the almost vicious opening of the door to the man's office.  A middle-aged sweaty man squeezed into the small space and somehow managed to slam the door behind him.  He also ignored the kittens and addressed the large man sharply.

            "What happened?"

            The man in the chair had his back to the other man.  He rolled his eyes at the kittens.

            "Hello Phil."

            Phil was obviously not in the mood for small talk.  "Don't 'Hello Phil' me.  I asked you a question.  Why aren't they dead?!"

            The fat man shrugged.  "Blew car.  Not there."

            "Not there?  What do you mean they weren't there?  Didn't you pressure activate it?  This is not hard!"  Phil paused to wipe his brow.  "They sit down.  They get up.  They blow up.  So why didn't they??"

            "Valet service."

            "_Valet service?  You mean to tell me you blew up some 12-year-old kid?"_

            The man shrugged.  "High school."

            "Fine, 16-year-old kid then.  Great.  Wonderful.  Exactly what I need."  Phil slumped against the wall.  "I don't suppose you have any idea where they are now?"

            The fat man was saved from having to answer this when his equipment on the table suddenly switched on.  He motioned Phil to be quiet and grabbed a pen and his kitty pad.

            "Hello?"  It was a male voice, one the fat man didn't recognize.

            "Baby sis?"  A high-pitched female voice answered, which he also didn't recognize.

            "I'm sorry?"

            "Is Helga there?"

            "Miss, I just—"

            "Ooo!  Are you my baby sister's new little boyfriend?  Aww, Mommy, Daddy!" she called, "Helga's got a new boyfriend!"

            There was a grunt that sounded like "Again?" and a feeble murmur that the man couldn't make out.  The girl on the phone laughed and came back on the line.

            "Miss, I'm sorry, but I just found this phone—"

            "Wait until you meet the family, they'll be just dying to see you!  In fact—"

            The girl rambled for a while, but the fat man had stopped writing.  Instead, he was fiddling with some of the wires on the table, stopping to jot something down and then pressing buttons and twirling what looked to Phil like random dials.  _He's just trying to look busy._

_            Finally, the girl settled down.  "I'm Olga, by the way.  Oh, how silly of me to not even have told you my name!  Can I speak to my baby sister now?"_

            "Listen lady, this phone was in the trash.  I just answered it when—"

            "The trash?  But I don't understand, why would Helga throw – oh!  It must be broken!  She probably hasn't changed the number to her new phone yet, I'm so sorry for bothering you sir!"

            "That's alright.  I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."  The man sounded relieved that Olga had finally gotten the message.

            "Oh thank you so much sir!  I'll just wait and call her again tomorrow.  Thank you again!"

            There was a click, and the line went dead.  Phil exploded.

            "I can't believe it!  _Now how are we going to find them?  Could this day get any worse?"  He hit the wall and spent the next few minutes holding his hand in pain._

            The other man continued working.  In a few minutes, he looked up.

            "Tracked call."

            "What good does that do us?  She's not there anymore!"

            The man pressed on.  "Atlanta airport."

            "So?"

            The fat man sighed and turned to one of his computers.  He worked without saying a word for about twenty minutes.  Phil sat down on the floor gingerly and fended off the kittens, who had decided that he was in league with the lint.

            "There."  The man pointed at the screen, and Phil came over to look.

            It was an airline flight list.  Helga and Gerald's names were both on it.  Phil blinked.

            "Where's that going?"

            "Brazil."

            Phil's eyes grew to twice their normal size.  He got out his handkerchief and started mopping his brow again.

            "When?" he choked out.

            "Tonight."  The fat man gave Phil a smile that turned his stomach.  Then he said the first real sentence Phil had heard him say since he entered the room.

            "They're coming for you."

A/N:  Whoo hoo!  Done at last!  This chapter took longer than I expected, sorry I suddenly realized that I needed to work out an unexpected plot hole for later on, which took me a while.  Oy.  But all better now.  :)  ~PJ

(ps, don't forget to vote for Miss Matched's awards!  I'm reminding myself here as well…)

Miss Matched:  You, a bad reviewer?  Yeah, like Curly's sane!  ::chomps on kudos happily::

Sennical:  Congrats, yes it was Mr. Smith.  You get a "good guess" award.  :)

TADAHmon:  More things to leave ya'll hanging on this chapter…what can I say, I'm just a sucker for suspense…

Jacquleine Schaeffer:  Your questions will be answered in due time…but it may be longer than you might like.  In other words, there are one or two mysteries in this story that won't be totally explained until a sequel…but most will probably be answered in the next few weeks as I finish this one up.

pokey:  Next part for ya.  Hopefully the next chapter won't take too long…I'm thinking maybe by the end of the week.


	14. In Which Grandpa Explains Himself, and G...

Chapter 13

In Which Grandpa Explains Himself, and Gerald and Helga Leave the Country

            "Shortman, there's been an accident."

            Arnold panicked.  "What kind of accident?  Is everyone alright?  Is Grandma ok?  Where is she?  Can I see her?  Is she in the hospital?"

            "Whoa, slow down Arnold.  Grandma's fine.  It's that stra—well I suppose I shouldn't speak ill of the…I mean, it's your cousin.  Your cousin's had an accident."

            Arnold stared at him.  "You mean Arnie?"

            "That's right.  I just got off the phone with the hospital.  There was some kind of malfunction in some of those high tech farming doohickeys and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He's in intensive care, but it didn't sound like he's gonna make it, Shortman."

            Arnold couldn't think.  He just stood there and tried to come to terms with this.  Grandpa continued talking.

            "I wanted to talk to that sweet little wife of his, but the nurse said she was close to hysterics and they had to give her a sedative.  She's sleeping it off right now.  They got a neighbor friend over taking care of the kid.  I told the nurse to keep us posted, so if I were you I'd stick around here for a while."

            _Arnie's__ dying.  Arnold stared into space.  __He's the same age as me, and he's dying.  For no reason.  He couldn't stop the next thought from coming, but he was ashamed to think it even so.  __If Arnie dies, Lila will be free._

_            "Arnold?"  Grandpa prompted gently.  Arnold jerked slightly and focused on Grandpa's face._

            "I'm ok."

            "Let's go inside.  We don't know yet.  Miracles can happen."

            _Not for me.  "Yeah, you're right Grandpa."  He went into the boarding house, trying to banish thoughts of Arnie or Lila from his mind._

*************

            Gerald emerged from the dressing room feeling like a new man.  He strode to the three-sided mirror and posed.  _Nothing like a new suit to make me feel better, he thought happily._

            This particular suit was designed to be lightweight, perfect, as the salesman had told him, for the jungles of Brazil.  Gerald was inclined to agree.  He put on some shades for effect and smiled at his reflection.

            He had also bought a kaki shorts outfit, despite Helga saying it made him look like the Crocodile Hunter.  But he did pass on the pith helmet.  He stretched and looked at his watch.

            "Hey Helga, you almost done in there?"

            Helga had bought a light white blouse with pink embroidery on the edges and some kaki pants, and was now trying on an outfit Gerald had picked out.

            "Gerald, there is no way in hell I am going to wear this thing."

            "Oh come on, it can't be that bad.  Come out and let me see."

            "No."

            "Helga, we don't have much time.  Just come out."

            "Not going to happen, Geraldo."

            Gerald rolled his eyes.  "It can't be worse than the leather, right?"  Gerald's first suggestion had been a tight black leather outfit complete with mini-skirt.  Helga had refused to even try it on.

            "I still can't believe you thought that would be appropriate jungle wear."

            "Hey, they do it in the movies.  Come on Helga, let me see how it looks."

            There was a sigh, a shuffle, and then Helga emerged from the dressing room.

            The outfit she was wearing now was still black, but made from a much cooler cotton blend.  It was…well, a bit tight.  Fortunately she had the figure to pull it off, and as Gerald surveyed her he grinned without thinking.  "Here, try it with shades."  He threw his pair at her, and she caught them and slipped them on.  _Perfect._

            Helga folded her arms and scowled at him.  _Ok, maybe not so perfect.  _

_            "Gerald, __look at this."_

            "Trust me, I'm looking."

            "Not like that," she growled, "This isn't me, come on now."

            "Fine.  I found a few other things you could try while you were in there."  He gestured towards a chair where he had put some more outfits.

            Helga stared at the pile.  "You know, I have never met a straight man as obsessed with clothes as you are.  I hate shopping."

            "Then just buy the one you're wearing."

"It's not even pink.  And it's too tight," she informed him.

            "Exactly why I like it."  He added quickly, "You wouldn't want loose clothing catching on branches and things anyway."

            "Your suit is a lot looser than this."

            "I bought a few tighter things too.  Man Helga," he turned back to the mirror and adjusted his collar, "Just accept the fact that you look great in that outfit and buy it.  You never have to wear it again after this, I promise."

            Helga mumbled something about a sexist society and returned to the dressing room, but Gerald noticed that when they checked out, the black outfit was among her choices.  She saw him looking at it and frowned.

            "It just reminds me of a dream I had once, that's all."

            "Whatever you say Helga."  Gerald hid a smile and picked up their bags.  They headed out to a taxi.

*********

            The flight to Brazil took longer than Gerald had imagined, and he couldn't wait to get off the plane when it finally landed in the early hours of the morning.  Stretching his legs and moaning, he watched with envy as Helga walked out of the gate with no trouble at all.

            "How can you walk?  I can barely feel my legs."

            "I've done longer flights than this before.  The trick is to keep your feet elevated so your blood doesn't pool."

            "More information than I needed," Gerald grumbled and half-limped alongside Helga.

            "So how are we supposed to recognize this person anyway?" Helga wondered as she scanned the crowds of people surrounding the baggage claim.  "She gonna carry a red carnation in a copy of _Anna Karenina or something?"_

            "I'm not sure."  Gerald sat on a nearby bench and rubbed his shin, trying to get the feeling to come back.  "Mr. Smith didn't say anything about that.  I guess she'll recognize us."

            "Should we hold up a sign with our respective acronyms on it?" Helga laughed and pulled the last of their luggage off the belt.  "Amazing, they didn't lose anything.  Last time I went to Paris I had to live out of my handbag for a week."

            Gerald shuddered at the thought, then yelped slightly as his leg started getting that pins and needles feeling.  _Least I feel something._

            Helga stood by their luggage and looked around.  Every kind of person you could imagine was in the airport.  Most of them were speaking Brazil's unique brand of Portuguese, but she heard a few other languages sprinkled into the mix, including English, Spanish, and once even Japanese, which she assumed was coming from a businessman somewhere.  After a minute of people-watching, she gave up and sat down.  No way was she going to find their contact in this, especially since she didn't know what she looked like.

            Gerald soon regained feeling totally in his legs, and after walking around the bench a few times he pronounced himself healed.  He sat back down and let out a huge sigh.

            "Ok, she can show up anytime now.  I'm hungry.  And tired.  I don't understand why they even bother giving you a pillow on the plane, it's impossible to sleep in those chairs."

            "Are you Gerald Johansson?" came an unexpected voice beside him.

            Gerald turned to see a forty-ish woman with short brown hair looking at him questioningly.  She held a photo of him in her hand, and he saw that Mr. Smith had printed his name at the bottom of it.

            "Yeah, that's me."

            The woman's face lighted up in a smile immediately.  "I'm so glad to meet you.  I'm your contact here.  Welcome to Brazil!"  She shook his hand warmly and turned to Helga.  "And you are?  I'm afraid Mr. Smith didn't tell me your name, just that Gerald was traveling with a female companion."

            "I'm Helga.  Helga Pataki." Helga held out her hand but eyed the woman carefully as she did so.

            The smile on the woman's face suddenly seemed a bit frozen to Gerald.  But she shook Helga's hand and continued talking.  

            "Ah.  Well, I hope both of you enjoy your stay here very much.  Brazil's a beautiful country."

            "We're not exactly here for a sight-seeing tour," Helga replied.  To Gerald's ears it sounded a bit snappish.

            "Of course not," the woman answered Helga but kept her eyes on Gerald.  "Well, let's get you settled, shall we?  I'm sure you're tired after your trip.  Both of you." she added almost as an afterthought.

            They gathered up their luggage and left the airport.  While their contact went in search of a taxi, Gerald whispered to Helga, "What was that about?"

            Helga looked confused.  "I'm not sure.  There's something not right about that woman.  She gives me the shivers.  Is there any way we can check her out?"

            "Not 'til we're back in the States and in the clear.  Don't forget why we came here."

            "I know.  I just wish I knew what was going on here."

            "Well for right now, she's our only link with whoever's trying to kill us.  Try to get along with her, and if it's an issue we'll deal with it after all this is over.  I mean who knows, maybe she doesn't like blondes, or she has an old enemy named Helga or something."

            "I'll try," Helga watched as their contact hailed a cab and beckoned them over, "But I'm not making any promises, Tall Hair Boy."

A/N:  Short chapter this time, I needed to set things up for next time.  Don't forget, since I pay for service now you can add me to your Author Alert list and you'll get an email whenever I add a chapter.  Ah, technology…

Sennical:  You're right, we are getting close to the prologue.  There are at least two stories after this one, and then if I haven't driven everyone crazy by then there's one more that's a possibility.  I'm already working on the next one, and in all honesty I think it'll be better than this one.  This one is my least favorite in the series, lol.

Maxine:  Deep breaths!  In…out…in…out…  ;)  

Dropsof Jupiter:  You also can now breathe.  :)  Lol, didn't mean to give anyone a heart attack there!  I'm afraid that FGWK is not anyone you know.  He may possibly be related to someone, but that's a very minor issue.  I just needed someone fun to write as a tech.  And I hadn't even thought about Harold there, but I totally agree about Sheck, lol.  And just remember that I never said Gerald and Helga would fall in love.  Not that I said they wouldn't.  :)

Miss Matched:  Hopefully this chapter was less confusing!  Did you figure it out ok?  If not, feel free to email me any questions, I always answer emails.  ::enjoys her mini-m&ms::

Jacquleine Schaeffer:  Again I say, breathe…  :)  (I was going to wait another chapter to talk about the accident, but decided that would kill too many people, lol)

TaDah:  ::throws TaDah a rope::  There you go!  ::sniffs the air::  Wait a sec…  ::tastes rope, then grins::  Black licorice!  Yum!  ::chomps on rope happily::  (Yeah don't ask…)

pokey:  Poor Arnold…actually, it gets worse.  Arnold is in for a bit of a rough time.

pogo:  I'm wondering how it will turn out also, grin.  Well I have a basic outline, but really the characters have already done some very unexpected things…


	15. In Which Death Interrupts

Chapter 14

In Which Death Interrupts

            The boarding house was unusually silent.  Mr. Potts had refrained from knocking down anything in his room.  Grandma was sitting quietly on the couch next to Grandpa, and hadn't even burst into song once.  Even Oscar had contributed by leaving the building – at Susie's insistence.  

            To Arnold it seemed strange and unnatural.  He appreciated the effort, but everyone walking around on tiptoe with somber faces wasn't very encouraging.  He longed for Grandpa to crack a joke, or for Mr. Hyun to complain about the bathroom, anything but this…nothing.  This waiting.

            It wasn't as though he was very close to Arnie.  He'd grown up with him to a certain extent, exchanging visits every few months or so, but they just didn't have anything in common.  Except perhaps Lila.  _No __Arnold__, don't think about her.  Not now._

_            The phone rang, and everyone jumped.  Grandpa got up and answered it._

            "Hello?  What?  No I don't want to change my telephone service, dagnabbit!"

            Arnold let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

            "I said no!"  Grandpa hung up the phone forcefully.  "Darn telephone salesmen…" he grumbled.  He had only taken a step towards the couch when the phone rang again, however.  He picked it up angrily.

            "Hello!  Oh…" his voice changed tone and Arnold strained to hear from the living room, "Yes this is Phil…I see.  Yes, thank you.  No I understand," his voice dropped even lower, "How is his wife doing?"

            Arnold couldn't listen any longer.  He got up and went to the kitchen.  Opening the refrigerator, he stood there staring into it, not sure what he was doing, just that he needed to be doing something.  After a minute Grandpa appeared in the doorway.

            "You heard, Shortman?"

            "Yeah."  Arnold keep his eyes on the food in front on him.  "So he's…?"

            Grandpa nodded slowly.  "He died about an hour ago.  They're keeping Lila there overnight, then some friends will take her in for now, so she won't have to stay in that big farmhouse by herself with the baby.  The funeral's set for—"

            "I can't go.  Mrs. Vitello's counting on me to decorate for Christmas this week."

            Grandpa looked slightly taken aback by this statement, but he nodded all the same.  "Well if you change your mind…"

            "It's not my choice to make."  Arnold closed the fridge door and walked out of the kitchen.

            "Where are you going?" Grandpa called after him.

            "I need to finish that painting."  Arnold ignored the looks from the other boarders and went up to his room, locking the door behind him.  He stood in front of his painting for a while but couldn't bring himself to pick up a brush.  Finally he just sat down where he was in the middle of the room and stared at the wall.

            So that was it.  That was the end of Arnie's story.  He lived twenty-some years, didn't finish high school, married the girl of his cousin's dreams, fathered a child and died in a farming accident before his son took his first step.  Was it worth it?  Did his life mean anything?  Arnold wasn't sure.  He'd dealt with death before.  He'd finally dealt with the death of his parents in college, finally accepted that they just weren't coming back.  That had been even harder, because there wasn't anyone there telling him how they had died and when the funeral was.

            But at least then he had been able to believe that they had died for a good reason.  Arnie was just a meaningless accident.

            Arnold sat there until the sky beyond his skylights began to darken.  Then he curled up on the floor and slept through the night.

***********

            A white rat chittered in its cage on Phoebe's desk, then slurped up the sample she gave him happily.  

            "You don't even have indigestion, do you Nezume?"

            The rat blinked at her vaguely and went back to his important rat business.  Phoebe sighed and slumped back in her chair.  There had to be a way to make this stuff work.  She had started running random tests at various points of the day, whenever she had a break from her regular lab work.  It was her lunch break now, but her scientific knowledge had failed her.  She couldn't think of another test to run.

            _Well I suppose I could start combining it with other chemicals, she thought wearily, __but then I'll have to be very selective...there's not much left of the sample.  She put a few drops in an open dish in front of her, hoping for an inspiration.  Nothing came, however so she swiveled her chair in the opposite direction and aimed a dart at the dartboard hanging on her door._

            The "dartboard" was actually a piece of cork with a picture pinned to it.  Phoebe changed the picture from time to time when the mood struck her.  Currently it was a dark green hot air balloon which seemed very appropriate to her.  The dart flew towards its mark, hitting the picture just below the wicker basket on the balloon.

            The door opened.  Cindy, Phoebe's recently-hired secretary came in, holding an open carton of orange juice in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.  She looked at the dart and commented, "Are you one of those bosses who believes in killing the messenger or is it really me you're mad at?"

            Phoebe half-smiled.  "Sorry Cindy, it's been a rough day."

            "I'm sorry too, but I think it's about to get rougher.  Dr. Colic is out today, as you know, and a few representatives from the board just called.  They're coming over for a surprise visit.  You'll have to glad-hand for him."

            Phoebe groaned and Cindy watched her in sympathy.  "There goes my lunch hour."

"Tell you what, why don't you go get a doughnut from the cart, take a quick break before they come?  I'll arrange these," she waved the stack of papers in the air, "For you in order of importance so you know what you can blow off."

"What are they?"

"Request orders, union invitations, bills, the works.  Go on, they have those ones with the little sprinkles you like so much."

Phoebe smiled weakly and got up.  "Ok, I'll be back in a minute."

Cindy set the papers on the desk and began sorting them while Nezume watched curiously.  Phoebe left the office, heading down the hall towards the snack cart.

_I can't believe Edward isn't here to help me with this.  Oh well, Phoebe accepted a sprinkled doughnut from the vendor, __at least this will take my mind off of hot air.  _

She sat down on a bench by a window and was just about to take a bite when she saw Cindy running towards her.  Alarmed, Phoebe got up to meet her.

"Cindy?  What's wrong?"

It took Cindy a moment to catch her breath, but Phoebe was already moving back to the lab with her in tow.  "What?  What happened?"

"I was sorting your papers," she gasped, "And I wondered what time it was -- I should have just looked for a clock – but my watch—"

They had reached the lab.  Phoebe opened the door and sucked in a quick breath of air in surprise.

There was a hazy light green cloud hanging over her desk.  Specifically over the portion where she had placed the dish of hot air.  And next to the cloud in his cage was Nezume.  Very still.  Very stiff.  Very dead.

Phoebe wasted no time.  She closed the door immediately and barked, "Seal off this room!  Now, now!" to the two hapless employees looking on from behind her.  They rushed to obey, and Phoebe looked hard at Cindy.  "What did you do?"

"I…I spilled some orange juice.  Just a little!  It couldn't have been more than a few drops!  I'm so sorry Ms. Hyerdahl, I don't know what I was thinking…"

But Phoebe was staring at Cindy, oblivious to her babblings or the people swarming around her sealing off her lab.  "How are you feeling, Cindy?"

"Me?  I'm a little queasy I guess.  Oh no, what will the board think about this?"

"Screw the board."  Phoebe put an arm around her very shocked secretary and laughed.  "Come on, I need to run a few tests on you and then I'm sending you home for the day.  Don't worry," she added seeing her panicked look, "I'm sure you're fine.  Actually Cindy, you just finally got somewhere with a project I've been working on for days."

"I'm not going to be fired?" Cindy ventured.

Phoebe laughed harder.  "Hardly.  But," she added in a more serious tone, "Don't ever bring orange juice in my lab again, ok?"

Cindy nodded fervently.  "Anything else I can do?"

"Just let me run some tests.  Oh, and could you get my cell phone out of my office?  I need to make a call.  Meet me in the south lab in five minutes."  And Phoebe practically skipped down the hall, her secretary watching incredulously.

***************

"Isn't that your beeper?"

"What?" 

"YOUR BEEPER!" Gerald shouted at Helga, who looked at the offending object.  She nodded, then hesitantly tapped their contact on the shoulder.  She moved close to her ear and said loudly, "Is there a phone around here?"

The woman opened her mouth as though she was laughing, though no one could hear her.  They were driving at what seemed to Gerald like breakneck speed down a bumpy dirt road in a tiny rundown jeep with no roof.  Their contact had told them the lack of a roof made for a better price.  Gerald felt that the lack of shocks might have had something to do with it also.  However, they had little choice as the taxis only ran in the city, and the safe house they were headed to was apparently located far away from any sign of civilization.  __

Helga sat back against her seat and crossed her arms.  She hated being laughed at.  _We need a phone though.  Gerald sat up and tapped their driver._

She made signs that she couldn't hear him, then finally decided to stop so that they could talk.  She turned off the rattling engine and turned towards him.

"Yes?"

"We really need to use a phone.  Helga just got paged."

"Well you won't find one around here.  Maybe in the city, but it wouldn't be wise to go back, the wrong person might see you.  You'll have to wait until we get there.  I don't own a phone, but Mr. Smith sent you a package, there might be one in there."

"Look lady, this is important!  It was Phoebe." Helga added to Gerald.

The woman's voice took on a steely tone.  "I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do.  Anything else?"

"Well now that you mention it, what are we supposed to call you?" asked Gerald.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself because I thought Mr. Smith would have told you.  You can call me Syl."

"Pleased to meet you."  Gerald ignored Helga's glare as he shook Syl's hand.  After a quick fight with the engine, the jeep roared to life again and they were off, rocketing down the "road" towards the safe house.  Helga went back to reading.  Gerald had finally given her the document Smith had compiled for him, and it looked like she was making sense of it, which Gerald considered to be nothing short of a miracle.

It was a very long trip.  Gerald attempted to sleep, but every time he drifted off they would hit another pot hole, nearly throwing him out of the car.  After what seemed like days they pulled into a little patch of dirt at the edge of the jungle and stopped.

"We go the rest of the way on foot." Syl announced, jumping easily out of the driver's seat.

"What?  In that?"  Gerald was looking at the dense leaves packed together as if they represented all that is ruinous to suits.  Which they probably did.

"Oh suck it up Tall Hair Boy.  You bought jungle clothes, now you get to test drive them.  At least we won't be out in the sun any longer."  Helga was in danger of turning a particularly painful shade of her favorite color.  She hurried after Syl, who had already started down a narrow foot path through the trees.

After almost an hour's hike, the three travelers arrived at a small clearing, with a primitive-looking cabin in the middle.  Syl gestured towards it.  "My home."

It wasn't much to look at, and Gerald found himself wondering if Syl worked for a living.  And how she knew Mr. Smith, who obviously had more than enough to live on.

Inside the cabin was unremarkable, one room with a dirt floor, a bed in one corner and a stove in another.  "I'll give you the grand tour," Syl said laughingly to Gerald, ignoring Helga as she looked around.  She spread her arms.  "This is it.  There's a outhouse out back and we bathe in the river over that way," she pointed behind him.  "I'll pile up some blankets over there and drag out the cot so there'll be three beds.  You can have my bed dear." she smiled at Gerald.

"One guess as to who gets the pile of blankets," mumbled Helga from where she was inspecting the stove.  Syl pretended not to hear her.

"Oh, and here's your package."  She dragged it out from underneath the bed.  "I'll let you go through it while I go down to get some water to boil.  We'll have soup tonight."  She took a bucket from a nail where it was hanging and left.

Helga exhaled loudly.  "What is her _deal?"_

Gerald frowned.  "I think she's nice.  If you'd just give her a chance—"

"A chance?  Gerald, isn't she a bit old for you?  She could practically be your mother!"

He stiffened.  "She's nothing like my mother."

"Don't get all high and mighty with me.  Maybe she doesn't like me because she thinks we're an item or something."  She looked at the box rather than Gerald as she said this.  "She was certainly all over you.  'You can have _my bed Gerald!'" she imitated in an annoyingly nasal voice.  "I'm surprised she didn't offer to share."_

Gerald snorted, then laughed.  "I don't know Helga.  Maybe she likes girls.  You know they say when a woman reacts with anger towards someone it's only because she's attracted—"  He was cut off when a pillow off Syl's bed slammed into his face.  "Mumpf!  There, you see what I mean?"

"Stop deluding yourself and help me with this thing, will you?"  Gerald pulled out a pocket knife and helped Helga open the package.  They went through it quickly.  There were all sorts of various equipment in it, most of which Gerald didn't recognize, though Helga seemed familiar with them.  But no phone.

"Well Geraldo, what do you suggest we do now?"

A/N:  I was going to list how many chapters are left in this story, but I'm still not sure how long it will take me to wrap things up.  I'll do a basic outline again this week for the ending and tell ya'll in the next chapter…probably the end of next week sometime.

Snow Lane:  Yes, poor Arnold…and I always say, assume nothing…

DropsofJupiter:  Lol, I think you're the first person I've ever heard say they like Arnie!  I myself feel somewhat sympathetic towards him…I can't help feeling that there must be a personality there…somewhere…

Rachael West:  Obsession is good.  :)  I'm obsessed too if that helps any, lol.  Yes I love the way Gerald and Helga can play off each other.  They're both just a little bit…bad.  heh.  There may very well be more death to come.  (I think that's the biggest plot hint I've give so far about this series, lol)  Btw, are you named after the RW who said the quote about feminists and…I think it was doormats?  Do you know what I'm talking about?

Pogo:  Sorry if Arnie caught you off-guard.  I did actually hint at it slightly – very slightly, as I do with all my plot twists.  It's entirely possible to guess everything important that happens in this series if you look hard enough.

Jacquleine Schaeffer:  Well, I'm proud of your review, lol.  :)  Thanks, and hopefully the next chapter won't take long.

TaDah:  Not too much of a cliffie in this one either, just for your sake. ;)

miss amyami:  ::smiles and nods::  Well thanks for taking the time to review…lol.

Poison Ivory:  Now you know how I felt reading Missing Pieces, lol.  That was the fic that got me hooked on fanfiction.  Although I had the advantage of reading it after it was totally finished, thank goodness.  And I bothered my roommate with cries of "Aww!" and "Oh my!" along with laughter.  She was ready to shoot me, oy.  I'm afraid that the A/H meeting, along with the G/P meeting and several other more important meetings won't happen until the next book.  Sorry, there's just not room in the few chapters I have left to do it justice.  Hope you get some sleep.  :)


	16. In Which Syl Has Some Explaining To Do

Chapter 15

In Which Syl Has Some Explaining To Do

            When Helga awoke in the middle of the night, her first thought was that she should have eaten more soup.  It had been bland, but now her stomach was growling.

            Her second thought, as she raised her head from the cot she was sleeping on (Syl had unexpectedly claimed the pile of blankets after all), was to wonder where their host was.  It was a small cabin, not many places to hide.  And she was nowhere to be seen.

            A glance at the bed told her Gerald was still asleep in it, though she had already figured as much from the snores threatening to shake down the house.  Gerald was not a light sleeper.  Then again, neither was Helga usually.  _What woke me up?_

_            Getting up as quietly as she could, Helga walked to the other end of the cabin.  Syl was definitely not there.  __Maybe she had to use the outhouse.   She went back to bed, then got up again.  She obviously wasn't going back to sleep for the moment.  Instead, she decided to sort through the contents of Mr. Smith's package._

            _All the standard stuff is here, she thought as she looked through the box, __short/long wave radio, grappling hook which we'd better not need, bug spray, transmogifier, denerualizer, chewing gum, Geiger counter, aluminum foil…everything but a phone.  Figures.  She pulled out the radio and twiddled with the dials.  Nothing but static came through the speakers.  __Guess the natives don't listen to pop.  As soon as that thought crossed her mind a very faint Ricky Martin song came on, and Helga spun the dial quickly.  This brought her to what appeared to be a news channel.  After a moment of listening however, Helga suddenly realized that the voices were not speaking in Portuguese, but English._

            Curious, Helga turned the radio around and adjusted the antennae to try and get better reception.  Soon, she could make out what they were saying.

            "…sure you're alright?" came a whisper which seemed very familiar to Helga, though she couldn't think why.

            "I'm fine."  A female voice this time.  _This is no radio station._

_            "Because if you need me to move them…"  __Move them?  Mr. Smith?_

_            "I said I could handle it."  __It's Syl.  Has to be.  How is she talking to him?_

_            Leaving the radio on, Helga moved nearer to the window and looked out while trying not to be seen.  Sure enough, there was Syl, standing in the moonlight near the edge of the jungle.  She was holding something large and yellow next to her ear.  A satellite phone._

            _What a conniving, crafty little…  Helga clenched her fists and forced herself to calm down.  She continued watching Syl as the radio carried on._

            "I just don't understand," Syl was saying, "Why you had to dump Helga Pataki on me, of all people!"

            "I didn't know it was her."  Syl scoffed at this, and Smith amended, "Ok, I guessed it was her.  But I didn't know for certain.  I thought Gerald would make up for it."

            "Almost."

            "It's only for a day or two.  Once you lead them to the site—"

            "I still don't think this is a good idea.  I don't like the thought of Gerald going in there."

            Smith's whisper became softer.  "I know how hard this is for you El.  Like I said, if you need me to get someone else—"

            "No," Syl sighed, "No, I'll do it.  It needs to be done, I understand that."

            Smith laughed softly.  "You always were a rock.  But I didn't call you about that.  There's something you should know."

            "What?"

            Gerald let out a particularly loud snore, startling Helga.  She banged her hand against the wall, "Ouch!"  Ducking down to keep Syl from seeing her, she froze and listened.

            "Hang on a second."  Syl told Mr. Smith.  _Crap._

            Helga could hear Syl heading back in her direction.  As fast as she could, she switched off the radio, threw it back in the box and dived into bed, where she shut her eyes tight and tried to slow her pounding heart.

            The door creaked open.  Helga attempted to snore along with Gerald.  Syl stood there for a few moments, then left, closing the door behind her.  Helga waited until she heard Syl's footsteps walking away from the cabin to open her eyes.  She took a deep breath and turned so her back was to the door.

            She was just debating going and turning the radio on again when Syl returned.  She shuffled around the room for a few minutes, then lay down on the blankets.  A moment later Helga pretended to be shifting in her sleep and chanced a glance at Syl before turning away from her again, puzzled.

            Maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, but she could have sworn Syl was crying.

***************

            As soon as Syl went to use the outhouse the next morning, Helga told Gerald what had happened.  His response was as follows:

            "Huhwa?"

            Helga correctly diagnosed the problem, and didn't say anything more until breakfast.  After Gerald had had his first cup of coffee and Syl left to refill the kettle for tea she tried again.  (As it turned out, Syl was also among the coffee-haters of the world, though she had managed to scrounge some up for Gerald.)

            This time Gerald was more responsive, though perhaps less believing.  "Ok, so maybe Syl isn't her real name.  But Mr. Smith trusts her Helga.  The man did save my life you know."

            "I know."  Helga chewed on her bottom lip, thinking.  "But why hide the phone from us?"

            "Maybe she thought it would be a security breach?  Who knows?"  Gerald went back to his coffee.

            But Helga was not so easily appeased.  When Syl came back, Helga watched her carefully.  As she poured her and Helga some tea, Helga said, "Thanks, El."

            Of all the things Syl might be, an actress was not one of them.  The moment Helga said her name she jerked and the hot water flew everywhere.  She apologized to Gerald automatically and glared at Helga.

            "So you did eavesdrop on me last night."

            "Why are you hiding your phone from us El?"  Helga asked calmly while Gerald tried to dry his shirt with his napkin.

            "Don't call me El." Syl told her through gritted teeth.

            "Why not?  Is that a fake name too?"

            Syl turned her back on Helga and cleared some breakfast dishes in an obvious attempt to keep her temper.  Gerald finished doing what he could with his shirt and looked at Helga.  _She's enjoying this way too much._

_            "You haven't answered me yet El."_

            "It's none of your business." she growled.

            "Maybe not," Gerald put in quickly.  _If I don't do something these two are going to kill each other.  "But we do have a right to know about the phone, wouldn't you agree, Syl?"_

            Syl looked at Gerald and her face relaxed slightly.  "It's my private line.  For emergencies only."

            Helga snorted.  "Oh, like your little chat with Smith last night?  Needed to complain about Helga Pataki, that's some emergency there, unlike oh say, finding out how to activate hot air?"  She was practically spitting.

            Syl slammed her hands on the table, making Gerald jump as she put her face right next to Helga's.  "Look girl, you have no idea what you're dealing with."

            "And you have no idea _who you're dealing with."  The two of them glared holes in each other's eyes, neither backing down a bit._

            Gerald was just about to consider diving for cover when Syl moved, ever so slightly, towards her kitchen knife.

            That was enough for Helga.  A few seconds and several quick blows later Syl was on the floor, nursing a cut lip while Helga stood over her.

            "Now I want answers lady.  Now."

            Syl was silent.

            "Who are you?" Helga demanded.

            Syl groaned quietly and sat up.  "Did you really think I was going to knife you?  I'm here to _protect you, whether I like it or not."_

            "I'll believe it when I see it.  Now answer the question."

            "I never said Syl was my name.  I said you could call me Syl.  You still can."

            "Not good enough.  What's your real name?"

            Syl eyed her.  "What's yours?"

            "You already know it."

            Syl laughed suddenly.  "Right.  I'm supposed to believe _Helga isn't a fake name?  Or Gerald for that matter." she added glancing at him.  But she blinked rapidly as she said it.  __You're not a good liar, Syl._

            Gerald could tell Helga was about to explode again, so he spoke up.  "Ok, we'll drop the name issue."  He ignored Helga's irritated look.  "But we do need to use that phone."

            Syl looked at Helga, who was still fuming, then back at Gerald.  "One phone call.  And it'd better be quick."

            "Agreed.  Are we even?" he asked.

            Syl touched her lip, but it had stopped bleeding.  "Fine.  Help me up, would you Gerald?  I'll go get the phone."

*************

            Ring.

            Ring.

            Click.  Shuffle.  "Hello?"

            "Pheebs?"

            "Helga!  Where on Earth have you been?  Didn't you get my page?"

            "Oh I got it Phoebe.  I just had a bit of canine trouble."

            "Canine trouble?"

            "Yes.  Of the female variety."

            "Fe-oh.  I won't ask.  Helga, wait 'til you hear what happened!"

            "Good or bad news?"

            "Great news!  I've had to shut down my entire East Lab!  It's been sealed off since yesterday!"

            Pause.

            "I'm waiting for you to explain to me why this is great news, Pheebs."

            "Oh, right.  Helga, are you sitting down?"

            "Listen I don't have a lot of time here—"

            "But you'll never guess—"

            "PHEEBS!"

            "Sorry.  Ok then, long story short, I've learned how to activate hot air."

            "How?"

            "Citric acid.  My secretary – well you don't want to hear about that, but basically the acid burns through one of the plant substances in the sample.  But only one.  It's sort of like a really really short fuse, it works almost immediately—"

            "What does it do?"

            "Remember how I told you it could be a bomb?  Well it isn't.  It's more than that.  Rather than the violent repercussions that one would expect in an atom-splitting procedure such as the one set forth when the acid consumes the substance, the only result is a time-lapsed radiation along with the expected run-off from the evaporated biological elements!"

            "That's amazing."

            Pause.

            "So, what is that in English?"

            "It's a bomb.  Only without the bomb."

            "Explain."

            "I'm guessing it's something in the plants not evaporated by the citric acid.  What they do is they take what could be a small nuclear explosion and change it into a drawn-out radioactive exposure.  Causing any living thing in the green cloud it creates to bear the brunt of a sudden, rapidly working radiation sickness.  Now I've only tested very tiny samples, but I would say it's easily enough to kill anyone directly in the cloud in less than ten seconds or so.  If you used the proper dosage, that is.  The substance turns a bright green when it's activated.  And it glows."

            "How do I stop it?"

            "I don't know yet.  As far as I can tell the cloud in my lab is still active, and I'm not sure how long it will last.  I'm working on some sort of deactivating solution I can spray in the area to dispel the cloud, but I've got nothing so far."

            "Well keep at it Pheebs.  Good work, I knew you could handle it.  One thing I don't understand though.  Why take the bomb out of a bomb?"

            "Helga, don't you get it?  This will only work on _biological elements.  In other words it will kill anything alive.  But it leaves buildings, streets, hills, etcetera all intact.  All ready for whoever did the bombing to just move in.  I'm not even certain if it kills plants."_

            There was a long silence, then Helga said, "Phoebe, I have to go."

            "Go get 'em Helga."

            Helga hung up the phone and looked at Gerald and Syl, who had insisted on hearing the whole thing.  Syl was looking horrified.

            "So that's what's being smuggled into the States.  Enough of an emergency for you, Agent L?"

A/N:  As promised: it looks like I have about four more chapters, plus an epilogue left in this story.  That's if a chapter doesn't get too long, in which case I'll split it.  So we're almost done!  Yay!  Here's the titles of the next chapters:

16: In Which We Finally Get to the Prologue

17: In Which Nothing Important Happens.  Nope, Nothing at All.

18: In Which Phoebe Discovers Common Ground With Stinky

19: In Which I Stick Everything Important I Forgot to Put in Another Chapter

Epilogue: In Which There is No Chapter Title Because, Let's Face It, an Epilogue Isn't Really a Full Chapter

Ok, so those aren't the real titles.  So sue me.  ~PJ

Snow Lane:  I feel bad for Lila too.  She'll show up some in the next story.

Jacqueline Schaeffer:  More mystery this chapter.  Or more clues, depending on how you look at it, lol.

nfg-babe33:  Hope this chapter lived up to your expectations.  :)  The next won't be out for a week probably, real life is getting in the way.

Sennical:  Interesting that you wondered what Arnold saw in Lila.  One of the short stories I'm working on will be on exactly that.  Heh.  Actually, in my original outline Arnold wasn't going to be in this story at all, except to be briefly mentioned.  He's a main character in the next though, so I decided ya'll needed to know what was going on with him during this time period for the next story to make sense.  (I'm really excited about the next one, in case you haven't noticed!)

TaDah:  Poor Arnie.  Poor Lila.  Poor Arnold.  Poor a lot of people actually.  Btw, for anyone who was wondering, Syl is pronounced like window_sill._

pogo:  Thanks. :)  More next week!

DropsofJupiter:  You're right, I didn't just kill him off randomly.  But he isn't really involved.  There'll be more on him in the next story.


	17. In Which Helga Baits, Arnold Sinks and G...

Chapter 16

In Which Helga Baits, Arnold Sinks and Gerald's Hooked

            "…so that's basically the layout.  According to Mr. Smith anyway, and we all know how reliable he is."

            Helga had finished translating the document and explaining it to Gerald and Syl.  Apparently, it had been a basic run down on a camp located nearby.  Mr. Smith was convinced that it was occupied by some of the same people who were smuggling hot air – but he had no proof.  Which was where Gerald and Helga came in.

            "So, everyone got it?  Gerald?  Elle Woods?"  Helga had taken to calling Syl various names beginning with "El", trying to gauge her reaction to each.  So far, no dice and she was running out of ideas.  Syl just gritted her teeth at anything Helga threw at her.

            "I still don't like it.  What you're basically telling Gerald to do is walk right in there when this could easily be a trap."  Syl was being fairly cooperative, but she made a point of standing on the opposite side of Gerald from Helga.  Gerald suspected that this was more from a general dislike than a fear of Helga repeating her ju-jitsu moves, however.

            "You think it's too dangerous?" he asked her.

            "No.  I think it's suicidal."

            "Look Eleanor, no one asked your opinion, ok?"  Gerald stopped himself from pointing out to Helga that he had in fact, done just that.  Helga, he had a feeling, was itching to pound on someone, and he would rather that someone not be him.

            "Anyway," Helga folded up the document, "It's not like we really have a choice.  We'll just have to make it quick.  We'll get in, get the evidence and get out.  The agency can handle the rest."

            "Agenc_ies." Gerald reminded her.  He was rewarded with a glare._

            Syl was glaring at Helga.  "You seem awfully calm about risking Gerald's life."

            "He can handle himself."

            "Yeah Syl, I can—"

            "Shut up Geraldo." Helga threw in his direction, "And you seem to be forgetting that I'm going in there too." she added.

            "Not forgetting.  Just wondering why you need the help if this is such an easy assignment."

            "Helga doesn't—"

            "Shut up Geraldo.  He's my partner Elwin.  We're a team, we've made it this far, and we're going in there together."

            "Don't I get a say in—"

            "No." said Helga and Syl together without looking at him.  _Great.___

_            Syl narrowed her eyes, but gave in.  "Like you said, we don't really have a choice."_

            "Unless you'd rather trade places with him." put in Helga unexpectedly.

            Gerald blinked and looked at Syl.  Helga was calling her bluff.  Syl looked away from them both.  "I can't do that."

            Helga smirked.  "Then you're putting him in danger just as much as I am."

            "Actually, I'm putting myself—"

            "Shut up Gerald." said Syl, still looking out the window.  Gerald frowned.  _I really wish there was another guy here.  Where's __Arnold__ when I need him?_

_            "Alright you two," Helga took charge again, "Let's get some sleep.  Looks like it's going to be an interesting night."_

**************

            About the same time Gerald was wishing Arnold was in Brazil, Arnold was wishing Gerald was in Hillside.  Or that he would at least answer his cell phone.  

            Actually, he was beginning to think that everyone he knew was in on some secret plot together.  No one he called was home.  Phoebe wasn't even answering her work number.  _Figures that when I finally decide to talk to people, no one's there.__  Arnold blinked and then banished that thought as being entirely too negative._

_            He hadn't really left his room since Arnie had died.  He had asked for some time off from Mrs. Vitello, supposedly so that he could spend some time painting.  But so far he hadn't done anything but eat a few times and stare at the wall or out the skylight.  The funeral was today, Grandpa and Grandma had both gone.  But Arnold didn't feel like going.  He didn't feel like doing anything._

            He was quite aware that what he was doing was wrong, that he would regret it later and it wasn't helping anything.  He knew that he was probably depressed, but he just didn't care.  It had been just a few hours ago that he had come to this conclusion, and it had jolted him enough that he knew he needed to talk to someone about it.  Because Arnold had never stopped caring before.

            But no one was home.  He hung up the phone more forcefully than he had meant to and stood up from where he had been sitting on his bed.  Ok, so he couldn't talk to someone.  He needed to do _something.  He couldn't just sit there any longer or he'd fall so far in he wouldn't be able to get out again.  The canvas in the room was still blank.  __No.  Anything but that._

_            He decided to take a shower, something he had neglected for entirely too long.  He felt a little better when he got out so he proceeded to throw the pile of dirty clothes on his floor into the wash.  That helped also, it felt good to be doing something with clear results.  With that thought in mind he figured a through cleaning of his room was in order.  He couldn't remember the last time he had lifted the tarp off his carpet._

            Two hours later Arnold paused in the middle of moving his shelves from one side of the room to the other.  Maybe they had looked better in their original spot?  But the computer desk was there now.  But if he moved the fish tank/water cooler a few inches to the right…then where would the easel go?

            He heard the door open downstairs and his grandparents calling his name.

            "I'm up here!"

            A minute later Grandpa tried to open Arnold's door.  "What the—"

            "Hang on Grandpa, I'll get it."

            Arnold climbed over his desk and moved the work table so the door could open.  His grandpa came in and looked around, scratching his head.  _He looks so strange wearing a suit._

            "Arnold?  Are you feeling ok?"  He surveyed the sparkling but uprooted room with concern.

            "I'm fine Grandpa.  Actually I'm feeling better than I have for a long time."

            "Any particular reason for…" he gestured around him.

            "I just…thought it was time for a change.  That's all.  How was the funeral?"

            "Oh it was ok as funerals go.  Arnie's wife is taking it pretty hard.  She made it through the ceremony without fainting though.  Looked awful pale but she made it."

            "Well that's something."

            "Oh it was something alright," Grandpa scowled, "I bet old man Stoffer twenty bucks she wouldn't make it to the eulogy.  I swear that cheater gave her smelling salts."

            "Grandpa!  You didn't—"

            "Calm down Shortman, of course it wasn't a real bet.  I would never bet on someone else's hardship.  Especially if I lose.  By the way, if Stoffer calls, tell him I'm dead."

            "Grandpa—"

            "But other than that it was a real nice funeral Arnold," Grandpa hurried on, "You should have been there."

            "I know.  I wish I had gone.  I was just…I mean I…"

            "You don't have to explain.  I just think it might have helped you.  You know, closure and all that other stuff them head doctors like to go on about."  He turned to go, then paused at the door.  "She asked about you, you know."

            "Who?" Arnold asked as if he didn't know who Grandpa was talking about.

            Grandpa rolled his eyes.  "Hedy Lamar.  Lila, of course."

            Arnold looked at the floor at the sound of her name.  "I don't think I could have talked to her just now.  Did you tell her—"

            "I think she understood.  She just wanted me to say hello to you, and she hopes you're doing well."

            "I'll probably see her a lot soon anyway.  She'll be moving back and—"

            "She staying there, Shortman."

            Arnold's head jerked up.  "What?"

            "That was part of the reason she was so keen to see you.  She's not coming back.  She's going to try to run the farm by herself.  Says she's tired of moving, and she doesn't want her son to have to adjust to city life like she did.  That's one determined woman.  I should have known better than to bet against her, she's tougher than she looks."

            "Yeah."  Arnold's head was spinning slightly.  "I guess I just assumed…so she's really not coming home?"

            "Her home's there now, Shortman.  Like I said," Grandpa looked at him gently, "The funeral would have been a good time for you to say goodbye."

            Arnold didn't say anything, and Grandpa left the room with Arnold barely noticing.  _She's not coming back.  He suddenly realized that somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought that maybe, now that she had lost everything he couldn't give her, they could start over.  He was good with kids, and Lila's son would probably even look like him…he stopped that thought before it went too far.  __What kind of a friend am I?  How can I say I love someone if all I want is for her to be miserable?  Then he stopped thinking that too, because it wasn't true.  He didn't want Lila to be miserable.  He just wanted her to be happy with him._

            The sky was getting dark outside.  Arnold automatically reached for his remote and turned on the lights.  They lit up the easel at just the right angles, making the canvas shine and ask him for life.  He couldn't think of Christmas now, but he needed to paint.  An image came to his mind, and he walked to easel and picked up a brush for the first time in days.  In his mind's eye he saw Lila the Widow.  Not in black, but in gray, determined, strong.  He could see her eyes telling Grandpa she was staying.  He had never painted Lila before, it had always been too painful.  But he half smiled as he loaded his brush and prepped the canvas.  This time, it would be healing.  This would be his goodbye.

**************

            Helga was having second thoughts.  She hadn't told Gerald or Syl just how impossible Mr. Smith's document made this little expedition sound for their sake's, but now she was wishing she had elected to stay with the boat for hers.  The three of them were paddling as silently as possible upstream towards the camp, which was a lot of work and didn't help anyone's mood.  _Maybe we shouldn't have agreed to this job so easily.  I can't help but think that something is very wrong.  But she kept her thoughts to herself and steered from the back of the boat._

_            Syl and Gerald were paddling in the front.  The plan was to leave Syl with the boat ready to head downstream as soon as Gerald and Helga got out of the camp.  Helga had protested that Syl might leave them stranded, but Gerald pointed out that they really had no other choice.  They just had to trust her._

            Syl herself seemed in a slightly better mood about this whole thing than she had been that afternoon.  Gerald thought, looking at her, that she either had thought of a new angle which calmed her fears or she was the type of person who always felt better after a nap.  He hoped it was the former.  _Given a choice between this and office work…ok, so I'd still pick this, that doesn't mean I can't complain.  Wonder if I'll get reimbursed for clothes expenses?  He and Helga were in their black outfits they had purchased before flying here, and they each had a pair of night vision goggles.  Helga had taken along a Geiger counter to find the hot air.  Gerald just hoped it was sensitive enough to find it even if it wasn't activated._

            "Gerald?"

            He blinked and brought himself back to the present.  Syl was whispering to him.  He glanced back at Helga, but she seemed lost in thought.  "What?"

            "I have a favor to ask.  For when you get in the camp."

            _Uh oh.__  "What kind of favor?"_

            "Just if you have time," Syl added quickly, "And if you find the hot air first then just get out of there, don't worry about it."

            "What is it?"

            "Here."  Syl discreetly handed him a small white envelope.  "If you get a chance, I'd like you to give this to someone in the camp."

            Gerald took it but frowned at her.  "You know someone in there?"

            Syl laughed softly.  "I know most of the people in there.  Why do you think Smith asked me to help?  But this is for a particular person.  I can't tell you their name, or even what they look like because I don't want you to be able to tell anyone if…" her voice trailed off.

            "Then how am I supposed to find them?"

            Syl smiled slightly.  "Don't worry.  If you're in there long enough, they'll find you."

            Before Gerald could ask Syl about this, Helga said from behind him in a low voice, "We're there."

            They went ashore and Helga and Gerald did a last minute check of their gear.  Satisfied, they nodded to Syl (well Gerald did anyway) who whispered, "Good luck!" and headed towards the camp.

            The jungle at night was anything but quiet, and with the help of the night vision goggles the two moved quickly and silently into the camp.  Helga pulled out the Geiger counter and they started checking tents, keeping a lookout for any people around.

            It seemed that the guards were on the other side of the camp on their rounds, and everyone else was asleep.  Whatever the case, they met no one, and soon Helga gestured to Gerald.

            "This is it," she whispered.  Gerald nodded and put an ear to the cloth wall of the tent, then motioned and they slipped inside.

            Helga stood nervously near the exit of the tent and watched as Gerald started going through some of the crates in the room.  _I have a bad feeling about this.  Where is everybody?_

            "Cimon, what's taking so long?"

            "It's not like they're just going to leave it out in the open, you know.  What's your hurry?"  Gerald appeared unconcerned.

            "No hurry.  This place just gives me the creeps is all."

            "What're you afraid of?"  There was no answer.  "Rats?" he questioned with a laugh in his voice, remembering the _Revel's hold._

            "Very funny."  Helga was not amused.

            "You know, this would go a lot faster if you would deign to help me."

            "Not my jurisdiction."  But with a sigh she left her post and went to open the lid of the nearest crate.  And froze.  

"Oh.  My.  Um, am I looking at what I think I'm looking at?"

            Gerald immediately stopped what he was doing and came over to look in the crate.  In it were around 40 large-sized cylinders of hot air.  And, if Phoebe's description of glowing light green was anything to go by, they were all activated.  

"Oh man."

            "I knew we shouldn't have taken this job!"

            Gerald stopped himself from retorting that it was her idea to come in here.  He picked up one of the containers to examine it, then looked at Helga.  She spoke first.  

"We are in a whole lot of trouble here," she said with a slightly hysterical edge to her voice.

            Suddenly, the lights went on.  Helga and Gerald blinked for a moment, then looked around.  So _that's where all the guards were._

            They surveyed the various weapons being pointed in their direction.  Helga found herself wishing that she wasn't right quite so often.  Gerald shook his head.

            "Man, this is why I hate business trips." he joked weakly.

A/N:  Finally!  Oy!  Sorry RL has been a pain lately.  I'll try to get the next chapter to ya'll soon.  So far we're on schedule with three more chapters and an epilogue.

So many questions about who Syl is in the reviews!  Too bad I won't answer plot questions, huh?  ;)  Heck, I never even said she was cannon.  ~PJ

Sennical:  I can't wait for Arnold to get involved myself.  He needs to stop moping around and get himself together, lol.

DropsofJupiter:  As they say in Scooby Doo:  Be afraid.  Be sort of afraid.  That's not really a plot hint, I just felt like saying it.  And you have my permission to hate anyone you like.

miss amyami:  I agree, poor mouse…rat…but it was either him or Cindy and he couldn't explain what had happened…

TaDah:  Thanks.  :)

Poison Ivory:  Yes I finally posted!  Finally!  Hopefully the next wait won't be as long.  Gerald's enduring Helga/Syl surprisingly well, I agree.  I hadn't expected that.  I sort of figured he'd start wishing for more males in this story long before now, lol.  Oh well, he is a bit distracted.

Serap-89:  Oh good, me too!  :)  Thanks.

silverkonekotsukari:  PJ's my name, suspense's my game…I did warn you in the summary…and I love writing Helga and Gerald together, they play off each other and it's fun.  :)

Snow Lane:  ::hands Snow Lane a Review One Hundred Award::  Congrats!  And thank you (all)!

pogo:  Well…define "wrap up."  That is to say, this particular story will yes…but there will still be quite a few unanswered questions…otherwise how will I keep ya'll reading for the rest of the series?  ;)

Luvya:  Hm more plot questions…well I will say this:  Arnold will find out about this…eventually.  And not in this story.


	18. In Which Gerald and Helga Spend Some Qua...

Chapter 17

In Which Gerald and Helga Spend Some Quality Time Together…In Prison

            "No?  Ok fine.  You'll let me know if anything else comes up right?  Yeah I know.  Yeah ok.  Bye."

            Simon hung up the phone and cursed loudly.  Moria raised an eyebrow at him.

            "Nothing?"

            "No.  No one's seen them.  It's like they've been wiped off the face of the planet."  He sat down heavily in a nearby chair and stared at the ground.  "We may as well face facts.  Someone was after them, and it looks like whoever it was found them."

            Moria's eyes flashed.  "Helga isn't easy to kill."

            "She's only human Moria.  Everyone has a weakness."

            "Not her."  Moria shook her head.  "There has to be another explanation.  Maybe she—"

            "Has she ever gone this long without contacting you before?"  He took her silence as his answer.  "Neither has Johansson.  They're gone Moria.  We need to retrace our steps, regroup and figure out where to go from here."

            "At least let's hold off on contacting their families," Moria pressed, "There's still a chance…"  She trailed off.

            Simon started to say something else, then stopped and nodded.  "Ok.  We'll give them a few more days.  But that's it."  He looked at his watch and got up to leave.  "We'll go over this later.  Anything on your plate tonight?"

            "After six I'm free."

            "We'll do dinner out then.  See you tonight."  He headed towards the door and turned to look at her again.  "It never pays, you know," he told her in a softer tone, "You can't get attached to your agents.  You can only protect them so much."  Again he looked as if he wanted to add something more, but he didn't.  Simon closed the door on his way out.

            Moria waited a few minutes, then went to the window and looked out at the parking lot.  She could just make out Simon going to his car below.  Then she looked up at the sky.

            "She's your responsibility, not mine.  You're the only one who can do anything for her now."  Then she took a deep breath, picked up her coat and left for her next meeting.

*****************

            "…five hundred and twenty-three, five hundred and twenty-four…"

            "…and fifty-seven, five hundred and fifty-eight, five hundred and fifty-nine stones.  Helga?"

            "Five hundred and thirty-two.  Shoot."

            "I win."

            "Ceiling versus floor?"

            "You're on."  They started counting.

            They were in a medium-sized stone cell leftover from some ruins near the campsite.  From the inside, it looked like it had once been used for storage, possibly for grain of some kind.  The section they were in was a rectangular offshoot of the main room, which was a sort of cylinder underground, like a well.  A large wooden door with a tiny window in the top separated the two rooms, and a guard stood outside it, who was probably as bored as they were.

            From the outside, the place didn't look like anything at all.  It was only accessible from a rope ladder suspended in a hole in the ground, located inside a tent in the middle of the campsite.  Gerald felt that the guard was totally unnecessary.  There was simply no way out.

            "This is boring," said Gerald as soon as he realized that there were far more stones in the ceiling than there were in the floor.

            "You got a better idea, Geraldo?"  Helga turned her head towards him and yawned.  She was sprawled out on the floor while Gerald leaned against the wall near her.

            "I dunno.  Rock paper scissors?"

**************

            "Rock crushes scissors.  I win again.  Two hundred and three to one hundred sixty-four."

            "One more time." Gerald said.

**************

            "I spy with my little eye something…gray."

            "That rock over there."

            "Nope."

            "No, not that rock.  _That one."_

            "I said no Geraldo."

**************

            "Are you alive?"

            "Yes.  18."

            "Are you male?"

            "Yes.  17."

            "Do you have a strange fascination with lemon pudding?"

            "Shoot."

*************

            "You're out!"

            "No way!  I'm on base!"

            "We said that rock was first base, Geraldo!"

            "_No, we said __that rock was first, __that rock was second, and—"_

            "I thought _that rock was second?"_

**************

            "Are you accident-prone?"

            "Yes. 16."

            "Are you male?"

            "Yes. 15."

            "Are you sure?"

*************

            "…I'll see your shoe, and I'll raise you the other shoe."

            "I'll call.  What've you got?"

            "Ha!  Five rocks!"

            "I still think you're cheating."

*************

            "Are you evil and manipulative?"

            "Yes.  Last question."

            "Curly?" asked Gerald.

            "I said it was a girl."

            "They're all evil and manipulative," Gerald grumbled.

************

            "No way."

            "Why not?"

            "Because it's no contest," Gerald argued, "I've only been in two real relationships, and frankly I'm not even sure those count."

            "That's it?"  Helga looked shocked.

            "Why, how many relationships have you been in?"

            "Let me think."

            Gerald waited.  And waited.

            "Helga?" he asked after a while.

            "Hm, what?"

            He was slightly annoyed.  "I asked you how many relationships you've been in."

            "And I said, 'Let me think.'"

            "You're still thinking?"

            "No, I'm still counting.  Let's see where was I?  Andrew for a while, then Randell…or was that Ryan?  He was only one date anyway, don't know if that counts.  Oliver, Nick, Lenny…wait, was Nick before or after—"

            "How about just relationships starting in college then?"

            "That's what I was doing."

            "Ok, first year of college, how about that?"

            "That's what I _was—"_

            "Ok ok, I get the point." Gerald snapped.  He sat down next to Helga and leaned against the wall again.

            "What about current relationships?" suggested Helga.

            "Non-existent."

            "Yeah me too.  Time elapsed since last one ended then?"

            "I broke up with Ginger a few months ago.  Right before I transferred to anti-terrorism."

            "Well you've got me beat there.  I dumped David on New Year's."  Helga unfolded her legs from under her and stretched them out on the floor to keep them from falling asleep.

            "You've gone that long without a guy?  After that string of names from—"

            "I decided to put romance on hold, that's all.  I was just getting sick of it.  I mean, why'd you break up with Ginger?"

            He shrugged.  "She needed to be on her own.  We'd been together off and on since college, and I don't think she knew who she was anymore.  It was like she was some kind of weird extension of me or something.  She was driving me crazy."  He noticed Helga was giving me an odd look.  "What?"

            "Well it's just that that was exactly the problem with David, only in reverse.  He wanted my whole life to be about him."

            "Hmm.  Maybe we should set them up when we get back."

            Helga laughed, then sobered quickly.  She traced the stone blocks on the floor with her finger.  

"You know we're probably not going to get out of this."

            Gerald wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just sat there in silence.  _What if she's right?  He didn't want to think about it.  __Well Gerald, you knew the risk when you started this game.  You just didn't know you were going to lose.  He stared out the little window at the back of the guard's blonde head.  __He really needs a better hairstyle._

_            After a few minutes of staring into space, he suddenly realized that he was hearing something.  Refocusing his eyes, he saw that Helga was digging at the mortar between the stones with her fingernails._

            "What're you doing?"

            "Getting out of here.  I don't know about you, Geraldo, but I for one am not going to die underground."

            "I don't think we have much of a choice here Helga."

            She pounded viciously at the floor, but her efforts barely raised a few clouds of concrete dust.  She seemed not to notice this however, and went at it again with renewed energy.

            "Don't just sit there, help me!"

            "Helga cimon, you're not doing anything.  You can't dig out of here with your bare hands."

            She stopped at looked at him.  "I know that Geraldo," she growled and turned back to her work.

            Gerald was going to just let her continue, figuring that she needed to work her aggression out somehow, but then he saw the red streaks where her fingers rubbed on the stone.  He grabbed her hands reflexively.

            "You're only hurting yourself.  Look at this."  He ripped off part of his sleeve and wiped the blood from her fingertips.  "Save your energy.  Listen, someone will have to come down and get us sometime.  Use your anger on _them, not yourself."  He looked up from her hands and saw with surprise that she was crying._

            Gerald had never been good with tears.  He sat there awkwardly wondering what he should do.  Would Helga slug him if he tried to give her a hug?  Should he just turn around and pretend he hadn't seen?  _Or I could always sit here holding her hands like an idiot.  Good choice, Gerald._

_            Just as he was about to let go of her hands, however, Helga tried to pull them away.  Without thinking Gerald grabbed her wrist tightly._

            "Let go," said Helga through gritted teeth.

            "No," Gerald replied, though he wasn't quite sure why.

            "Let _go!"  Helga pulled back a little, prompting Gerald to grab her other wrist as well._

            "Gerald!"  She looked up at him in frustration.  But suddenly all Gerald could see was how blue her eyes were when they had been crying.  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to want to stop those tears.  And what better way to do that than…his lips were touching hers, just brushing them really, asking permission to continue.  He heard her draw a quick breath and realized he had closed his eyes.  He panicked slightly.  _What am I doing?  Then she was kissing him, and nothing else mattered.  The stone beneath him had disappeared, as had the wall beside him…heck the whole cell was gone…and the camp…and the jungle…  He let go of her wrists and reached up to cup her face in his hands.  But villains always have perfect timing._

            "How sweet.  A last kiss."

            Helga jerked away from Gerald and they both looked towards the door.  It was Phil.  Well, at least they assumed it was him.  It was rather hard to tell, surrounded by heavily armed guards as he was.  He stepped forward slightly so that they could see him and cocked his head in thought.

            "You know, Johansson, you could probably sue her for sexual harassment.  She is still your boss, you haven't been terminated at Ical yet as far as I know."  He narrowed his eyes.  "Of course, that's not the termination you should be worrying about at this point."

            There was silence for a moment.  Then, Helga snorted.  "That's the best you can do?  You've had all this time to plan on what to say to us, and you come up with _that?"_

            Phil seemed a bit ruffled.  "Well I wasn't expecting…fine."  He drew himself up and glared at them.  "I was looking forward to a bit of a chat, but since you've decided to be anti-social I'll just tell you what I came here for."

            "Could you hurry it up?  We were kind of busy." put in Gerald.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Helga blush lightly.

            "Yes.  I caught that."  Helga blushed a bit deeper.  Gerald didn't think he'd ever seen her embarrassed before.  "I'll make it quick.  I just wanted to let you know that you have about three hours left to live.  Just enough time for us to pack up camp and move out."

            "What's wrong with right now?" bluffed Gerald.

            Phil looked at him with understanding in his eyes.  "Rather die than deal with having kissed the Pink Nazi, eh Johansson?"  Helga was tomato red by this time, but Gerald thought it was probably anger, not embarrassment now.  "You'll get your chance soon enough.  But I am not without my sadistic side, and I've found it's a lot more fun to kill people who know it's coming.  Besides I just got here.  I want to get my bearings, maybe take a hot bath before I kill you.  To do it now would be uncivilized."  He grinned and motioned to his guards.  

            "Three hours, you two.  Enjoy."  And he was gone.

A/N:  If the kiss seemed a bit hokey, I apologize.  I needed a good bridge there and that was the only thing that seemed to work, but I don't think I wrote it as well as it should have been written.  Oy.  As I've mentioned, Real Life is being a Real Pain right now, so my writing is slower than usual.  So I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, sorry.  But I think it's going to be rather long.  Oh, and so far we're on schedule – 2 more chapters and an epilogue to go.  ~PJ

Poison Ivory:  Glad to see you're back writing again!  I've never seen On the Lam, but I love the other two, yes.  I think April Fool's Day and Geek Party are hilarious too…but then I'm a bit crazy about Curly which explains the last one.  

Snow Lane:  Well obviously the camp knew they were coming…the real question is, how?

Sennical:  I haven't giving hints about Syl/El because I think I've done that enough in the story…actually she wasn't supposed to be the big mystery, although I'm amused that it's turned out that way.  There are a few other intentional gaps that might be more worth pursuing…  Heh, and Arnie's and Lila's kid…is going to take some thought.  But I think I may put 'em in yet.

TaDah:  Thanks again!

pogo:  ::gives a Good Guess award::  cliffhangers are good…

DropsofJupiter:  Lol, my fanfiction is spawning AU fanfiction spin-offs!  grin, well that would be one way to end the story…

Luvya:  Course you know I don't answer plot questions…but yes there'll be a sequel…and up to two other books after that, depending.


	19. In Which We Have the Calm Before the Sto...

Chapter 18

In Which We Have the Calm Before the Storm

            Phoebe stood in the middle of a desert.  The sand was cool under her bare feet, and she found herself shivering uncontrollably in the heat.  She could hear the whinny of a horse in the distance.  In front of her, firmly on the ground was a tiny cube, almost transparent but tinted pink around the edges.  It was empty.  Her hand reached for it.

            She heard a sound and looked up in surprise.  This was wrong, there wasn't supposed to be anyone else here.  But there was someone, three people in fact.  They wore long black robes with the hoods up, covering their faces so that she couldn't see who they were.  She stared at them.

            Then suddenly she was afraid.  Horribly, completely afraid of something she couldn't see, couldn't sense at all.  Two of the people in front of her moved away, as if they were afraid of whatever was coming also.  The third person stood still a moment, then started moving towards Phoebe, stretching out a cloaked hand to her.

            "No!" Phoebe tried to say, but nothing came out of her mouth.  She wanted to go with the other two figures, it was suddenly vitally important that she go with the other two robed ones, but not this one.  Not the one still moving towards her.  

"Not you!"  The words came this time but the figure paid them no heed.  She turned to run but behind her was a huge stone wall that went on for as far as she could see.  She turned around again to face her attacker, her arm shooting out at him automatically, as if she could ward him off with her hand.  He grabbed her wrist tightly, she cried out in pain and then the figure was melting, somehow he was turning to liquid before her eyes but still gripping her.  And then she realized that he was turning into a pool of blood at her feet…she looked at her hand, covered in blood now, and screamed and screamed and screamed…

Phoebe woke up.  She was drenched in sweat, but she was at home in her own bed, safe.  She waited a few moments for that fact to register firmly in her mind, then took a deep, long breath.  A nightmare.  That's all it was.  A glance at the clock told her it was three in the morning, far too early to get up.  She stared at the ceiling for a while, and eventually felt sleepy again.  Satisfied, she rolled over and went back to sleep, and the next morning she didn't remember the dream at all.

**********************

Gerald was bored.  He hadn't thought – with three hours left to live and all – that it would be possible to be bored out of his skull.  Apparently it was.  He'd tried to do the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing but he guessed it only worked if you were seconds away from death, facing it down and all that.

And now he couldn't even talk to Helga.  As soon as Phil had left she had retreated to a corner of their cell and refused to meet his eye.  His suggestion of another game of rock paper scissors had only earned him a glare, and he had a feeling that if he tried to kiss her again he'd end up…well, dead a bit sooner than he had expected.  He stood up.  Maybe Helga enjoyed sulking in a corner enough to want to spend her last few moments that way, but he was going to…um…walk.  Around the cell.  _At least I'm not just sitting there anymore._

On his third time around, Helga let out an exasperated sigh in his direction.  _Ok, that's it.  I'm dead anyway, might as well go out with a bang.  And with that thought in mind, he sat down next to her._

If she knew he was there she gave no sign of this knowledge, so he poked her in the side.  She raised her head from her hands and looked at him incredulously.  

"Are you as bored as I am?" Gerald asked, ignoring the obviously murderous intent reflected in Helga's eyes.

"Am I _bored?" she repeated, blinking at him, "I have three hours to live, and you're asking me if I'm bored?"_

Gerald felt that now was probably not a good time to tell her it was more like two hours by now.

"That's right." he said and braced himself.

Helga stared at him for another minute, then gave up and leaned back against the wall.  "Actually, yes, I'm bored silly.  I'm all out of morbid thoughts to think and I don't feel like wallowing in self-pity.  The range of accepted thought patterns for the doomed is way too limited."

"I guess rock paper scissors wouldn't be appropriate?"

"Yeah that's what I want on my tombstone: 'She bravely played rock paper scissors until the very end.'" Helga half-laughed.

"Well we could—"

"If you suggest making out, I'm gonna deck you."

Gerald blinked.  He was going to ask if she wanted to play baseball, but now he was intrigued.  "Why?"

Helga let out a breath of air and stared at the wall.  "Look, I can understand the kiss, I was scared, you were desperate—"

"I resent that."

"All I'm trying to say is that it was perfectly natural for it to happen at the time.  But it was just a last kiss, that's all.  We can't read anything into it because there's nothing to read into.  So let's just stop talking about it, k?"

"So you're saying it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Right."

"Perfectly natural."

"Sure."

"So why are you so uncomfortable talking about it?"

"Gerald…"

"Ok ok, I'll shut up."  He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.  _Well that's a relief.  So that's all it was.  Perfectly natural.  Right._

_Yeah right.  He opened his eyes again.  "That was some kiss though."_

"Gerald, come on."

"I was trying to."

"We'd never work out."  Helga stood, deliberately ignoring him, and started walking to the other end of the cell.

"Seems to me we don't have a whole lot of future to consider here," Gerald pointed out, standing up and walking with her, "I mean, even my shortest relationship lasted longer than three hours."  Then he caught himself.  _Uh oh, I just said the r-word._

Helga seemed not to notice however.  She folded her arms and growled.  "If I ever get my hands on Syl…"

"What?" Gerald wasn't tracking well.

"Syl?  Or El, or Elvis or Elfie or—"

"Elfie?"

"Anyway," continued Helga, beginning to pace while again ignoring Gerald, "Obviously she tipped someone off that we were coming and set us up very nicely.  'Here come the people you're trying to kill, right into your camp!'  Bet she gets a huge Christmas bonus this year.  And don't you dare defend her."

"El wouldn't do that."

Helga socked Gerald in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.  He collapsed in a surprised heap.

"Uh, actually, I said that."

Helga looked up, fingers still clenched into a fist.  Their guard was talking to them through the door, a bemused expression on his face.  "Oh."  She looked down again.  "Sorry Gerald."  He waved vaguely at her and worked on remembering how to breathe.  Helga focused back on the guard.

"How do you know Eloise?"

"Huh?"

"Um, Syl.  Or El.  Or whatever the hell her name is."

The guard smiled.  "Let's just say she's a good friend of mine.  And I know for a fact that she would never double cross anyone like that."

"Then how else did the camp know we were coming?" Helga challenged.

"I don't know that—"

"Ha!"

"—but I know it had nothing to do with El.  I'd stake my life on it."

"Which means a whole lot to me right now, let me tell ya." retorted Helga.  She heard a Brainy-esque noise behind her and turned just in time to keep Gerald from falling down again.

"I did say I was sorry," she told him.

He nodded and whispered, "It's ok."  Then he turned to the guard.  "You're good friends with Sy—with El?"

"The best."

He nodded again.  "Then this is for you."  Gerald pulled an envelope out of his pocket and pushed it through the bars.

Helga stared first at the envelope, then at Gerald.  "Where did you get that?"

"Syl gave it to me to give to her friend if we got a chance.  I guess we just did."

"And you didn't think to read it or anything first?"

"Well—"

"I'll read it to you if you like," offered the guard mildly.  "Well, part of it anyway.  The rest is personal."

Helga rolled her eyes.  "Oh great.  We get to hear part of a message when Gerald here could have read the whole thing if he had only thought of it.  Well go ahead, we've only got a few hours here."

The guard read from the note he had taken out of the envelope.  "If you get this message, chances are that the people who gave it to you are in trouble.  Please, somehow get them out of the camp.  In case you need convincing that this is worth the risk, their names are—" the guard stopped.  He had suddenly become considerably paler.  Slowly, he looked up at the two prisoners.  Then he quickly folded the letter back up and started fumbling for something in his pocket.

"Well?  Grab your keys and let's go here pal!" said Helga as the guard continued to search.

"It's not that simple," replied the guard, "For one thing, I don't have keys to the cell.  Only Phil does.  Second, it's not that easy to get out of the camp."

"We've noticed," started Gerald, but stopped in surprise when the guard pulled out a lighter and set the letter on fire.

"I can't be found with this," the guard explained as he dropped the burning paper and put out the ashes, "This is going to be hard enough to pull off as it is."

"Still think Syl put us in here?" Gerald asked Helga, then added quickly, "You already punched me for that one."

He needn't have worried, however as Helga was deep in thought.  "Ok, aside from wondering how they found us, we've got two things to figure out.  First, is there a way to get out of this cell, or are we going to have to wait until they come down and get us?  Second, how the heck do we get out of the camp once we're out of the cell?  Too bad Phil isn't here now, we need his keys."

"I think El has provided us with the first answer." said the guard.  Shifting the ashes with his foot, he then bent down and picked up something small and metal.  A skeleton key.

Helga grinned.  "Now all we need is a plan."

A/N:  Sorry to leave you hanging like that, but I figured it was better than letting ya'll wait another three weeks or whatever until I finished this chapter.  So yeah, I had to split this one, I've actually written more than this on it but this was the best place to put a break.  So, two more chapters and an epilogue left.  Hopefully coming soon!  ~PJ

Snow Lane:  Lol, keep thinking…someone's bound to figure it out…

Poison Ivory:  Sorry no breakout this chapter, that's the next one and it'll be lots of fun, I hope!  This one was just a bridge, but I felt like it's been a while and I'd better post something so ya'll don't think I abandoned the story or something.  Geek Party is very close to being my fav all-time ep, if only for the way it develops so many characters in such a short time – and does it well!  Amazing!

TADAHmon:  AU means an alternate universe story: in other words, a fan-fic in which some major thing is changed from cannon.  For example, a Harry Potter fic where Harry is sorted into Slytherin, or a Hey Arnold! fic in which Arnold's parents never left.  Basically it's a "What if?" story.  Make sense?

Luvya:  Well it's Helga, so she probably was thinking about Lila, at least that would be my guess.  :)

DropsofJupiter:  ::hides from glare::  Heh, least I didn't get all mushy and stuff this chapter…?  Phil has a lot to live up to as a bad guy, so don't be too hard on the poor man.  After all, his bosses are ManWithShadowOnHisFaceWhoRadomlyThrowsObjectsOutOfWindows…and the other guy, lol.

nfg-babe33:  Heh, just wait…and thanks :)

Miss Matched:  ::listens to CD patiently, figuring I probably deserve it::  ::chomps on kudos happily::  ::chains herself to computer to write, tying Curly's leash next to her for company::  Better?  :)

Sennical:  Boring chapter this time, I know.  Next will be better I promise, I just needed to set stuff up.

CourtneyCourtney:  Will do, thanks!

pogo:  I never said this was a Helga/Gerald story.  grin.


	20. In Which the Storm Breaks

Chapter 19

In Which the Storm Breaks

Carlos was bored.  Not only was he on guard duty, but he had been assigned the stupidest position in the camp.  He was the only guard in the tent covering the hole in the ground which led to where the prisoners were kept – in other words he didn't really have anything to guard.  It's not like the prisoners were going to just bust out of their cell, take down the guard and somehow climb out of the hole without a ladder.  And if they tried, he could just shoot down the hole to quiet them down.  Not that they would try.  Even desperate people were not stupid enough to attempt to get out of this camp.  He sighed and shifted his rifle.  He'd been here for almost three hours now, with no one to talk to and only the occasional mosquito to keep him company.

"Hey!"

Carlos cocked his head.  That sounded like his friend guarding the cell from inside the hole.  He was probably as bored as Carlos.  He inched over to the hole and looked down cautiously.

The blonde guard waved at him.  "Carlos, isn't it?"

Carlos frowned.  The guard knew his name, he was sure of it.  What was he playing at?  

"Yes, it's me.  What are you doing—"

"I was just wondering, are you bored?" the guard cut him off.

Now Carlos was getting suspicious.  Something was definitely going on here.  On the other hand, he _was bored.  _

"Very bored.  Why?"

"Wanna play checkers?"

Ooo, he was good.  He knew Carlos had a weakness for checkers.  But Carlos stood his ground.

"Not right now, I'm on duty." he said loudly, in case anyone was listening.

"Oh come on, you're guarding nothing.  What's the harm in one little game?  I'm bored stiff down here."

Carlos was unsure.  "We might get caught."

"How?  Everyone's busy packing, and Phil said he wasn't coming back for five hours.  There's no risk."

Something still didn't seem right to Carlos, but the lure of checkers won out.  "Ok, I'm sending down the rope ladder."

A few moments later he was receiving a boisterous hug from his liberated friend.  "Thanks for the lift," said the guard, smiling.  Then he hit Carlos in the back of the head with a rock he had hidden in his hand.

Carlos thought, just before he blacked out, that this guard might not be the best friend he ever had.

**********************

Gerald stood brushing dirt off his clothes by the edge of the tent.  The walls of the hole in the ground had not exactly been clean.  Plus there was the fact that he'd been lying on the floor of an underground prison cell for who knew how long.  At least he'd left his white suit behind at Syl's place.  _Man, who knows what it would have looked like by now.  No doubt about it, black is the color to wear for dirty work._

Helga's voice broke him out of his musings.  "Are you just going to leave him there?"  She pointed to the unconscious Carlos.

Their guard was sorting through some boxes stacked in a corner of the tent.  He turned around and shrugged.  "You got a better idea?"

"Yeah.  We put him out of commission."

"He is out of—"

"Permanently.  What if he wakes up before we're out of here?  Even if we gag him he could still make enough noise to get us all killed."

But the guard shook his head.  "No way.  This guy's a friend of mine."

"He won't be when he wakes up."

Ignoring this, the guard finished his search and walked back over to Gerald and Helga.  "Well, this is all I could find as far as weapons go."  He held out a single hand grenade that looked as though it had been made in the late '60s.  "And it's probably a dud."

"We'll take it anyway." Gerald decided and took the grenade.  Noticing Helga's raised eyebrow, he added, "Hey, those guys have guns, knives, and active bio-something bomb thingies.  I'm taking what I can get."

"What about his rifle?" Helga pointed to Carlos.  Gerald picked it up and inspected it.

"You know how to work that?" she asked.

"No."  Helga rolled her eyes and took the rifle from Gerald.

"Ok you two, decision time," the guard reclaimed their attention, "You have three choices: you can head towards the river, take the jungle path, or try to find your way out of here in the ruins beside the camp."

"Syl – even if she didn't set us up – will be long gone by now," said Helga, "So the river's out."

"The ruins might give you more cover."

"Yeah but with Gerald's sense of direction we'd end up heading right back to camp.  I say we take the path."

The guard nodded.  "If you stay to the side of it for a few miles you should miss any advance moving parties."  He glanced outside the tent.  "I think I can get you across camp, but you'll be on your own from there.  I can get Carlos here," he indicated the man on the ground, "To help me think up a plausible story as to how you escaped.  He'll understand once I explain it to him.  But we have to hurry, Phil's three hours are almost up.  He'll be here soon.  We can hop from tent to tent, that way we won't be out in the open long enough for anyone to spot us, hopefully."

"How many tents to the end of camp?" asked Gerald.

"Five."

            "Right," said Helga gripping the rifle, "Let's go."

*****************

            Gerald watched the guard disappear into the next tent.

            "Is he there yet?" asked Helga from behind him.

            "Hang on."  Gerald counted to five.  The guard didn't come out.  "Ok, come on."

            Trying not to look as though they were sneaking out of camp, they stepped out and began walking at a normal pace towards their goal.

There weren't many people on this side of the camp.  Gerald was about to hope that they wouldn't see anyone at all when the first worker ambled by.  He picked up a crate and glanced towards them.

Gerald tried not to obviously hold his breath.  

But the man only nodded at them and went on his way.  Gerald had a few seconds to slow his heart rate before a group of people walked by.  But they too didn't give them a second look.  Gerald and Helga kept out of sight as much as possible, then ducked quickly into the tent.

            "We have to do that four more times?  We'll never make it." Helga growled.  "At least three people saw us."

            "Yeah but they didn't go after us.  So far no one's recognized our faces.  At least there's no uniforms or anything here, so we can blend in." replied Gerald.  "Hey," he was about to call for their guard/guide when he realized he didn't know his name.  "Uh..."

            "Call me Les."  A voice from the other side of the tent told them.

            "Why do I have the feeling," said Helga as they made their way to where Les was standing, "That 'Call me Les' means the same thing as 'Call me Syl'?"

            Les grinned at them.

**********

            "Two more tents to go."

            "I didn't like the way that one guy looked at us."

            "Which one, the guy loading the truck or the one by the well?"

            "Actually I was talking about the guy leaning up against the ruins.  I don't like this," Helga repeated, "It's too easy.  Prisoners don't just walk out of camp, I don't care how careful we're being."

            Gerald secretly agreed with her.  He wanted to trust Les, after all he didn't have to let them out of the cell in the first place.  But something was wrong about this.

            Les shrugged.  "What else can we do?  We'll just have to keep going, and if there's trouble we'll find out soon enough.  Let's split up and go one at a time for this one.  We're heading for the small tent on the left."

            They nodded and he went out.  Helga watched him go.

            "Uh oh." she said suddenly.

            "What?"

            "He just got noticed.  Someone recruited him to help lift some boxes."  She squinted to try and see better in the glare of sunset.  "Looks like he'll be busy for a while.  Should we leave without him?"

            "We can't stay here.  They'll be packing this tent up any minute."

            Helga shifted her rifle slightly.  "Alright, I'm going."

            There was a large group of people forming around Les, working on packing up a collection of crates and boxes into trucks.  It looked like the tent they were packing was used for armaments.  Gerald watched as Helga slipped by them without so much as one person noticing.  She entered the small tent.

            _Ok, no problem.  Gerald started to follow her.  _

            "Hey!  Who're you?"

            A man in a tan shirt had appeared from around the corner of the tent, just as Gerald stepped out of it.  Gerald quickly glanced at the other workers.  None of them had noticed the challenge.  Yet.  Gerald smiled broadly at the man and held out his hand as he walked towards him.

            "Johansson.  New recruit.  Are you—" he checked for a name tag but couldn't find one so he made up a name, "Roberts, I assume?"

            "No…" the man looked at him suspiciously, "I'm Brockson.  But look you can't just—"

            "Ah of course, Brockson.  Glad to meet you."  He grabbed Brockson's right hand with his left one and started pumping it up and down energetically.  _Five steps to the tent.  Or three feet to the ruins if I have to._

_            But now the man's guard was up.  He held onto Gerald's hand tightly.  "Tell me who you are, right now, or I will personally dispatch you, got it?"_

            Gerald held up his right hand in protest.  "Hey man, I'm just, uh, selling these fine leather jackets and—"

            "Who do you think you—"

            But Brockson had to stop talking then, because Gerald had used his free hand to punch him in the face.

*************

            _He should be here by now.   Helga paced the tent nervously but didn't dare risk looking outside.  __Wonder which way Les wanted us to go from here?  She couldn't be that far from the edge of camp, but the ruins were right behind them.  Should she head that way instead?  Her current hideaway appeared to be storage for various things Phil's men must have cleared out of the ruins, which meant that if she went that way she might run into them.  But then if everyone was out packing up camp right now…  __What should I do if--  Behind her, she heard a sharp crack, as if someone had stepped on one of the pieces of pottery lying on the ground._

            "Hands in the air, Pataki." a voice said quickly.

            She turned around.  One of Phil's bodyguards was facing her.  Well, actually what was facing her was the rather long barrel of some kind of gun she didn't recognize.  Though she was sure it was quite effective.  She slowly raised her hands.

            "Put the rifle on the ground, then kick it towards me."

            She did so as slowly as possible, hoping either Gerald or Les would get in there soon.  They didn't.  The bodyguard shouldered her rifle and gestured with his weapon.

            "Ok, move.  We're going for a little walk.  And don't get too close."

            Helga took a step towards him.  Then another.  Saw the long piece of metal on a box out of the corner of her eye.  Like a sword.  She took another step.

            And stopped.  _Don't think Helga, just act._

_            "I said move!" the bodyguard demanded._

            She did.

*************

            "Helga!"  Les burst into the tent. 

            Helga was standing over a very large man.  A very large man with something long and shiny sticking out of his chest.  Les didn't stop to wonder what it was.  She looked up at him.

            "Gerald's in a jam, come on!"

************

            Gerald was in slightly more than a jam.  He was in an all-out brawl.  Although his original attacker was out of commission, the noise had drawn the attention of the packing group, and now Gerald was in the middle of the whole lot of them, just trying to stay upright.

            So far he was holding his own, but it wouldn't be long before someone remembered that they were loading weapons onto the truck a moment ago, and then it would get messy.  He flipped a guy over his back and stood up to deck another.  As that guy fell he caught a glimpse of Helga and Les coming out of the tent to help, but he knew that even with all three of them they didn't stand a chance.  What he needed was a distraction…

            He ducked a punch and when he raised his head he could see more people running towards them.  The alarm was spreading.  Any second now Phil was going to show up.  _Great._

            "Decided to keep a low profile, eh Gerald?"

            Helga had arrived with Les following close behind.

            "Well," Gerald panted as he aimed a kick at someone to the side of him, "I was going to walk away but then someone here said something bad about your mother."

            "Can't be worse than what I've said myself," she mused and head-bashed a particularly large fellow who immediately regretted rushing her.  

            "Any idea which one it was?" wondered Les, who had joined them by this time and was therefore confusing several of the guards by hitting their heads together.

            "Um," Gerald watched Helga fell another guy, "Probably that one.  Think now might be a good time to make our exit?"

            "No hurry," called Les.

            "Take your time," Helga grunted and narrowly escaped a blow to her jaw.  She returned with a sharp jab to the neck.  Another man down.

            "Just a minute."  Gerald ducked behind the other two long enough to pull the grenade out of his pocket.  Then he came back, held it aloft and shouted, "Hey!"

            A couple people stopped and looked at him.  Helga took advantage of this and took down two more guards.  Gerald tried again.

            "HEY!  PEOPLE!"

            This time, most of the crowd around him froze and looked at him.  He held the grenade in front of him so they could see it.  Then, smiling widely at them, he pulled out the pin.

            It takes somewhere between five and fifteen seconds for a grenade to go off after the pin is pulled.  It took one second for the people closest to Gerald to realize this.  Three seconds for a space to clear around him.  Gerald threw the grenade and ran with Helga and Les towards the safety of the ruins.  Several people simply stood there and watched the grenade fly right towards them.

            Right past them.

            Another three seconds later, the tent they had been packing exploded.

            A foot away from the ruins, Gerald chanced a glance back.  Total panic.  Everywhere people were tripping over each other trying to get away from the charred remains of the tent.  _Well, I wanted a distraction.  Still, it seemed a bit much just for an exploded...  He stopped suddenly, almost making Helga crash into him._

            "What the heck are you doing?  Run!" she yelled at him, but he was too busy watching the cloud of green mist beginning to rise overhead.  _Hot air.__  There must have been hot air tubes in the tent, and I just broke the glass.  _

There were three men still standing by the truck when the mist hit them.  One of them suddenly screamed, then fell and lay still.  His companion heard the cry and turned to help, but all he succeeded in doing was falling on top of him.  The third saw the two of them and grabbed a rifle from the truck to fight this new attacker.  Then he saw the green cloud and changed his mind, but it was too late.  He landed awkwardly while trying to run, his rifle discharging beneath him.

            The shot was wild.  It wasn't aimed.  It shouldn't have hit anybody.  

But Les was in the way.  And then, in a blur of blonde hair, he wasn't.

            Helga was.

            Gerald was aware of several things happening all at once.  Helga was falling but Les caught her.  Her shoulder was bleeding.  Someone had noticed the green cloud and was spraying something at it.  People were yelling.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the jungle leaves move quickly – was someone there?  But Les was pulling at him, telling him he had to leave _now.  So he scooped up Helga ignoring her muttered curses, thanked Les and disappeared into the ruins._

*************

            Les steadied himself against the stone wall and went over his choices.  He could stay and try to dig himself out of this mess, or he could run.

            Too many people had seen him.  He knew at least half of the people they had been fighting earlier.  But did they understand what he had been doing, or would they just think he had been confused in the fight?  _Three more days, he groaned to himself, __three more days and I would have been free.  But no, I do this instead.  He had done the right thing, he knew that.  It just wouldn't be easy to explain._

            Then again maybe this was his chance.  In all the confusion it was entirely possible that Phil would think he was dead, if he thought of him at all.  He hoped his wife was ok.  Maybe, if he went now he could catch up with Gerald and Helga.  He smiled a little at that.  _Helga Pataki.  Of all people to save my life…  Yes.  He would go.  His wife would understand._

            But just as he decided this, a voice jolted him out of his thoughts.  

            "What the hell happened here?"  Phil had arrived.  He looked from the ruined tent to the almost dispersed cloud, then wildly around him.  In this light he looked practically purple with rage.  Then he saw Les.

            "You!"  He marched over to him, gun drawn.  "What happened?  Why aren't you guarding the prisoners?  Why did the tent explode?"  He had one hand to his chest while the other began mopping his dripping brow.

            Les tried to think of an answer, but he had nothing.  However, someone else did.

            "I don't know why the tent exploded, but I can tell you why he isn't guarding anyone."

            Phil and Les both looked towards the sound.  There was a man standing there with a bandage around his head and a newly acquired rifle.  

            Carlos.  _Oh no._

_            Carlos pointed at Les.  "He let them escape.  No, I'm wrong.  Actually he __helped them escape.  And he knocked me out with a rock."  He indicated his bandage.  "And he owes me a game of checkers," he growled to himself._

            Phil stared at Les.  "You…" he gulped in quick breaths of air, making him look like a mutated fish trying out lungs for the first time.  "I…"  He lifted his gun.

            "Please," it was Carlos again.  He looked grimly at Les.  "Allow me."  Phil nodded and Carlos leveled his rifle at Les.  He smiled.

            "Thanks for the game, _friend." he said, and shot him in the chest._

*****************

            A few hours later, Phil was standing at the edge of camp.  It had taken them far too long to pack and clean up the mess, and they were now behind schedule by at least two hours.  But that was the least of his concerns.  Not only had he lost two important prisoners, but an entire shipment of activated hot air…this wasn't going to be easy to explain.  He needed time to get a story together.  But he was not granted that time.

            "Hello Phil."

            Phil spun to see the tall man he had met the last time he had reported in.  He struggled to remember a name but failed.

            "Hello, er, Doctor," he recalled in a memory flash.

            The doctor smiled and came to stand next to him.  He looked out into the jungle.  "Any word on the prisoners?"

            So he knew already.  This was not good.  "Ah no, but we'll keep looking.  They can't have gone—"

            "No, they cannot be far.  But you have wasted too much time already.  I have ordered the camp to disperse.  We will deal with them another day."

            Phil rankled at this undermining of his authority, but made himself answer calmly.  "Oh?"

            "Yes.  Tell me Phil, what would you do with someone who had bungled every single order given to him in the past, oh say, three months or so?"

            Cold fingers wreaked havoc on Phil's spinal cord.  He stood with his mouth slightly open, unable to think of anything to say.  The tall man turned his head to look at him, then smiled again.

            "I'm only joking, Mr. Briteon.  The camp is awaiting your orders."  He jerked his head in that direction.  

            Phil didn't stay to laugh at the joke, he turned and moved as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

            The doctor watched him for a moment, then looked back at the jungle.  Almost imperceptibly, he nodded into the darkness.  He waited a few seconds for the scream, then leisurely went back into camp, pausing only to remove the long silver knife from Phil's back on the way.

**************

            "We're lost, aren't we?"

            "No."

            "I've seen this wall before."

            "That's because it looks the same as every other wall we've passed."

            "So we're lost."

            Gerald sighed.  "Basically."

            They had managed to stop the blood flowing from Helga's shoulder, but it was obvious that she needed to get to a doctor, soon.  She insisted that she was capable of walking though twice now Gerald had had to balance her when she lost her footing on the stone floor of the ruins.

            And they were lost.  Gerald didn't mention it to Helga, but he was sure he had seen "that wall" before also.  He was just about to suggest turning around when something caught his eye.  He started to mention this but was interrupted.

            "Gerald, are my eyes playing tricks on me or is that a light up ahead?"

            "Looks like a torch."  _Hope it's not the camp._

_            "Should we shout or run?" she wondered._

            Just then whoever was holding the torch must have heard them however, because the light began moving rapidly towards them.  Gerald looked at Helga.  She leaned against the wall and he knew that she couldn't run anymore.  _Ok then, let's hope this person is friendly._

_            Apparently she was, because a minute later Gerald found himself holding the torch while the person bear-hugged a very surprised Helga._

A/N:  Ok, one more chapter and then the epilogue.  Oy, I'll finish this thing by the end of the year if it kills me!  Btw, I saw the Two Towers Tuesday at midnight, and let me just take this moment to say – go see the freaking thing.  Especially if you love Legolas.  It was absolutely incredible.  Ok, I'm fine now.  ~PJ

DropsofJupiter:  Well, I did keep you waiting for a while, sorry, but this is an 8 page chapter which sort of makes up for it, eh?  And hopefully the next will be up soon, I'm past the really super hard part now, lol.

Miss Matched:  Ah, a fish…erm, thank you.  ::gives Miss Matched a full set of croquet mallets::  Happy Christmas.

Snow Lane:  Worry not!  I always finish my stories.  It may take me several years longer than I had planned, but I always finish them.  So you know who Syl is now, right?  :)

Maxine:  Phoebe's dream has a lot of meanings, some of which I'll be sure to point out in the epilogue…and some of which you may be able to figure out before then…and some of which you may not understand really until the sequel.  Sorry.

Luvya:  You know I don't do plot hints but I will make one slight exception this time.  It is not Curly.  I love Curly too much to make him be the bad guy.  Psycho guy, maybe, but not bad.  ;)

Poison Ivory:  ::looks over her shoulder for Kate::  I'll be careful…and ha, I put up a chapter!  Your turn!  ;)  ::starts involuntarily at small noise by the window::

Momolove:  My sister always wanted a bulldog.  Of course, she's a college football fan…SEC champions this year…yes, well.  Nice bulldog…nice…  ::tries to sneak out of house::  Ouch!  I put out a chapter already!  Hey!  Eep!  ::runs back into house::  

pogo:  Oh good, it is my life goal to drive others crazy.  :)  Enjoy the insanity.  I do.


	21. In Which We Wrap Up a Few Things and Unr...

Chapter 20

In Which We Wrap Up a Few Things and Unravel Others

            Arnold finished adjusting the painting in the window.  He stepped back to see if it was straight.

            "Looks good Arnold, let's go see it from the outside."

            He smiled and followed Mrs. Vitello out to the front of the shop.  They stood in the sidewalk and watched the snow fall in front of the window display.  There were hardly any other people around, it was past closing time and Hillside had never had much of a night life.

            "Well now, I think that came out fine, just fine.  Thank you Arnold."  Her eyes traced the lines of Arnold's Christmas painting.  It wasn't really anything special.  After his Lila painting he just hadn't had the energy to do anything spectacular.  But then, a simple painting was really what Mrs. Vitello – _Rosemary, he reminded himself automatically – wanted for the store.  __Christmas in Hillside portrayed the street the flower shop was located on, covered in snow and Christmas decorations.  Very simple, but Arnold had a warm feeling looking at it just the same._

            "Thanks Mrs. Vitello.  I think so too."  And amazingly enough, he did.

            "What about you?" she turned towards him and looked down her nose sharply, "How are you doing?"

            "I'm fine too."  With a start he found that he was telling the truth.  He was ok.  He gave Mrs. Vitello a wink to show her he meant it.

            "I'd better get home.  My Grandparents are waiting on me for dinner."

            "Alright.  I'll finish locking up the store."

            "Thanks."  Arnold waved and headed down the street.  His mouth wasn't actually smiling, but his eyes gave that impression just the same.  Maybe a painting wasn't a miracle, but it was good enough for him.  Mrs. Vitello had liked it, and now the price of his first sold painting was resting nicely in his pocket.  It was all he could do not to skip down the street.

***************

            "Uh, Syl?  Syl…I can't breathe, Syl…"

            Syl let go of Helga and stepped back.  "I'm sorry, I just…when I saw you…"  Gerald realized looking at Syl that her eyes were wet.  Helga was nodding.

            "No I get it.  It's ok Syl, I finally get it." she told her, and Syl in response burst into tears.

            "Well I don't." Gerald pointed out.  "Anyone going to enlighten me?"

            "Les," Helga glanced at Syl to make sure she was right, "is Syl's husband."

            Gerald blinked, but Syl didn't deny it.  He found a handkerchief somewhere in his outfit and handed it to her.

            "I'm guessing," Helga continued, "That he's working at the camp against his will.  Some kind of debt to pay off to Phil or something.  That's why Syl's living out here in the middle of nowhere – she's keeping an eye on him, with Mr. Smith's help I assume.  And Les is probably slipping her information that she can pass on to Mr. Smith in return, whenever he can."

            "Which is why Les helping us is such a risk," Gerald ventured, "Because there's always a chance that someone is already suspicious of him?"  _She must have been watching from the jungle when Helga took that bullet for Les then, that's what the sudden attitude change is all about._

            "Exactly."  Helga turned back to Syl, who was pulling herself together.  "Am I right?"

            Syl nodded.  "I can't give you details of course but as far as the basics go…that about sums it up."  She took a breath and handed Gerald's handkerchief back.

            "How long has it been like this?" Helga asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

            "Fifteen years."

            "Fifteen _years?"_

            "In three days, yes."

            Gerald wondered what it would be like to be apart from your spouse for fifteen years, except for the occasional two-minute meeting or a letter you would have to destroy.

            "Well Syl," he told her, "I think that makes you about the bravest person I've ever met."

            Syl laughed a little.  "I hardly think that – Helga are you ok?"  Helga had leaned against the wall a bit abruptly and probably harder than she had meant to.

            She shook her head.  "Fine.  Just a tad dizzy is all."

            But Gerald was already picking her up, and Syl nodded at him.  "Yes we need to get that bullet out and I don't have the tools to do it here.  Come on, we can talk on the way."

*************

            The ruins were long and cold, but eventually they came out of them, and from the end of the ruins to Syl's jeep was less than half a mile.  Still, it was a long way to carry Helga, and by the time they reached the jeep Gerald wanted to collapse on the ground and just stay there for a millennium or so.  Instead he leaned against the car and watched Syl get ready to dress Helga's shoulder.  It was a sign of how much pain she was in that she hadn't complained about being carried once.

            "This is going to hurt," Syl was telling Helga, "There's nothing I can do about that."  Helga clenched her teeth in response.

            Gerald tried to keep his eyes on Syl.

**************

            "We'll head to the airport," Syl shouted over the racket as they careened along the dirt road back towards the city, "I've already talked to Mr. Smith and he says it's safe for you to return to the US – safer than staying here anyway."

"Does that mean Phil…"

"Dead.  Found him already with a nasty gash in the back.  Smith is still figuring out what all happened in there, you left quite a mess apparently.  Best guess is he was killed for incompetence, which means they'll leave off chasing you for the time being while they sort out who's in charge.  And decide if you're really worth the trouble.  Meanwhile, Smith set up a flight for you and said he'd call me when he has more information."  She patted her jacket where a bulge indicated her satellite phone.

            Helga nodded and closed her eyes, her hand resting on her shoulder bandage gently.  She was obviously still in pain, but no longer in danger.  Gerald had washed the bullet off with water from a canteen in the jeep, and was now saving it for her in his pocket.

            "One thing I still don't understand," Gerald yelled to Syl, "If you didn't tell the camp, how did they know we were coming?"

            "Probably the same way I found you," she answered, swerving around a pot hole that threatened to swallow them whole.

            "How was that?"

            Instead of saying anything, Syl rooted around under the seat where she had stashed her backpack.  Gerald had to stop himself from grabbing the steering wheel while she ducked her head beneath the windshield.  In a few moments she pulled something out and tossed it to him.

            It was a gadget of some kind.  _Come on Gerald you can do better than that.  Helga would know the name, type and model number by now.  Get with it man!  He studied it and noticed a small blinking light near the center.  __Ah ha._

_            "A homing device?  But what is it tracking?"_

            Syl grinned at him.  "Smith told you to get rid of those keys!"

            "But I took off the beacon in the airport."  Gerald checked his pockets and drew out the Mustang's keys.  "See?"  He handed them to her.

            Syl took them and started laughing so hard she had to pull over.  Then she leaned against the wheel until she could catch her breath enough to talk.

            "Look Gerald."  She took a penknife from her jacket and slit open the plastic cap on the end of one of the keys.  She frowned at it then slit the other key.  The frown lifted and she handed the keys back.  Gerald stared at the tiny blinking light inside.

            "But…but I threw away…"

            "Well if I don't miss my guess, I'd say you threw away the keyless entry remote.  You know, the one that uses a little laser to unlock the car?"

            A sound from the back seat made Gerald turn around.  Helga was shaking with laughter.  She opened her eyes and smiled at him.  Gerald half-smiled back at her and rolled his eyes.

            "That's what I get for indulging my sentimental side."  He leaned out of the window and threw the keys as far as he could.  Syl tried her best to wipe the smile off her face as she put the car back in gear.  Helga didn't even try.

****************

            The airport was just as busy as the last time Helga had been there, which was fine with her.  The more people, the better chance they had of blending in with the crowd.  She didn't have long to worry about whether one of Phil's men would find them there though before a flight to the States was announced.

            "That's yours," Syl told them, "You'd better run."

            She gave Gerald a hug, telling him not to worry about her and then turned and gave Helga one too.  She slipped an envelope into her hand.

            "Don't tell me.  You have a "friend" in the US you want me to get this too?  You know, where I come from bigamy is illegal."  Helga raised an eyebrow at Syl.

            But Syl just laughed.  "No, this one's for you.  You can read it on the plane."  Her jacket began to ring and Syl pulled out the satellite phone and answered it.  She waited a moment then said "Ok, hang on."  Syl looked and Gerald and Helga.  

"It's Smith.  He says he needs to tell me something and I can hardly hear him in here so I'm heading outside.  Have a good trip!"  She waved to both of them and disappeared into the crowd.  Helga tucked the letter in her pocket.

            Gerald and Helga made it onto the plane just after the final boarding call, hustled along by flight personal the entire way.  They received several dirty looks from people who had been waiting on standby but were far too tired to care.  They collapsed in their seats at the back of the coach class, buckled their seatbelts, and waited for takeoff.

            And waited.

            And waited.

            Half an hour later the intercom crackled and the pilot explained in broken English and not much better Portuguese that they were waiting for the paper napkins to be loaded.

            "Should not be much more time than five hour.  Napkin available in—"  The voice held a hurried conversation with someone else then came back to the microphone.  "Sorry, wrong time.  Napkin should not be much more time than five minute."  Another consultation.  "Five _minutes.  Thank you."  The intercom clicked off._

            "Of all the—" Helga stopped and frowned at the seat in front of her.  "Gerald?  Am I going crazy or is that phone ringing?"

            Gerald followed her eyes.  Sure enough, the phone provided for in-flight calls was flashing "*RING**RING*" on its tiny led screen.  Gerald stared at it.

            "Is that even possible?" he asked.

            Helga shrugged.  "It's never happened to me before.  Think we should answer it?"

            At that moment, the screen changed to "*PICK UP THE PHONE PATAKI YOU" followed by something rather unprintable.  Helga smiled.  She answered the phone.

            "Hello Moria."

            "'_Hello Moria,'" the voice on the other end mimicked irritably, "You've been out of contact for God-knows how long, wreaking all sorts of havoc heaven-knows where, never caring that I've been to hell and back worrying about you--"_

            "I never knew you were so religious."

            "_hell and back worrying about you, when out of the blue I get a message to call this ridiculously long number on my PDA and type 'ring' at the tone!  And all you have to say is 'Hello Moria?'"  This was followed by a longer, considerably more colorful recitation of Helga's crimes._

            "Gerald says 'hello' to Simon too." put in Helga during the pause between Moria's questioning Helga's parentage and her bemoaning the fate of, God-forbid, any offspring Helga might have.

            Helga was still on the phone with Moria when the plane finally took off twenty minutes later.  She had started hearing Simon in the background asking alternately what was going on and if she had summoned him to her office merely to benefit from her conversation.  A few more of his proddings sufficed to convince her to take a moment and explain things to him, after which he took away the receiver and asked to speak to Gerald.  Helga handed over the phone to him gratefully, and Gerald summarized their jungle activities to Simon, listened, nodded and gave the phone to Helga again.

            "Ms. Pataki?" 

            "I'm here Simon."

            "Moria is still a bit…indisposed, so I thought I should tell you what I've just told Gerald."  A sound very much like something wooden slamming into a wall came out of the speaker.

            "Shoot."

            "Although your actions as of late have been completely out of line with code, the information you can now give about the people behind this will be I'm sure invaluable.  This will be taken into account when we decide if any action needs to be taken against the two of you.  You are both on official suspension and will be transported upon arrival in the States to a safehouse—"  Helga sighed noisily.  A boring small-town house with no work to distract them?

            "You are not to return to Headquarters for at least two weeks, though you may take as much as a month if you feel you are unable to return to work that soon.  Um, with the…trauma of your experience, and all."  Simon had an odd tone in his voice and Helga wondered what he was talking about.

            "We've made some progress with the situation here.  Although we still don't know where the hot air was going to, we have managed to raid one temporary storehouse while you were gone and now have several containers of it in custody.  However, we haven't begun research on them yet.  The problem is that I'd really like to put this at an independent operation – somewhere we aren't known to be working just in case they come looking for this.  The right amount of cash could generate a leak even here and they seem to have—"

            Helga interrupted again.  "Simon, I've got just the girl for you."

            "I thought you might."  There was a click, as if a recording device had been turned off.  "Off the record?  With your information, added to the help of Mr. Smith and this friend of yours, I think we'll be able to put this thing to a stop far before we had ever hoped before.  Of course, since you broke about a million rules getting that information, the Agency can't reward you for it."  He paused.  "Incidentally, I understand you were shot?"

            "That's right."

            "Ah.  You may find that your medical compensation is slightly higher than you might expect next paycheck.  Also, I believe somewhere along the way Mr. Johansson lost a car.  That will, of course, be replaced."  There was another pause.

            "Oh," Simon added as an afterthought, "In case I forgot to mention it, the location of your safehouse is in Hawaii.  Very close to the beach, as I understand it.  I hope that's not too inconvenient for you."

****************

            Helga waited until Gerald was asleep beside her to read the letter Syl gave her.

Dear Helga,

I'm sure you still have a lot of questions to ask me, and I can't answer most of them.  For example, you're probably wondering why I acted the way I did towards you when we first met.  I can't explain it to you right now, but I can tell you that I'm sorry.  Suffice to say that I thought I knew who you were, and I couldn't have been more wrong.  In a way I can see part of me when I was your age in you.  I don't think I would have used karate or whatever you did to "Syl" if she had treated me the way I treated you, but then again I probably would have punched her.  Or at least wanted to very very badly.

I don't know if I'll ever see you again, but I want you to know that I'm so glad I got to meet both you and Gerald.  Please tell him that for me.  I wish we had longer to talk.  There's a lot I would like to ask both of you.  Well, I wish a lot of things.  But I have my health, and thanks to you my husband, and just in that I have more than a lot of other people I have known.

Mr. Smith will always know how to contact me, and he'll give me updates on how you two are doing I'm sure.  Tell Gerald not to fall in love with any more cars, lol.

Love to you both,

Stella (aka Syl, or El)  (and yes, that's my real name this time)

            "Good letter?"  Gerald had woken up.

            "Yeah."  Helga smiled.  "Very good, actually.  She says she's glad she met us."

            "Amazing.  Even you?"

            "I can be nice.  See, watch me refrain from hitting you." Helga pointed out. "And she says you're not to fall for any more cars."

            "What about sexy blondes?  Ouch!  I thought you were refraining!"

            "I did.  That was just a light punch.  You'll heal."

            "Ah, but what about the blow you've dealt my heart?" He put his hand to his chest and closed his eyes dramatically.

            "Gerald…"

            "Alright, I'll be serious.  I have to ask you something important though."

            "What's that?"

            He opened his eyes and looked at her.  "Can I help you pick out a bathing suit for our month in Hawaii?"

            She rolled her eyes.  "If I say yes will you shut up?"

            "I doubt it."  He grinned at her, and in a moment she smiled back.

            "We'll see."

            It went on like that for pretty much the entire flight.  And if somewhere in the conversation Gerald took Helga's hand, or if by the end of the flight Helga was asleep on Gerald's shoulder, well then I'm sure the author simply forgot to mention it.

THE END

A/N:  **But wait, there's more!  The epilogue will appear before the New Year, and it includes a surprise I've been cooking up as a special bonus for this story!  Stay tuned! ~PJ**

Jade Rose:  lol, ask and ye shall receive…eventually…

Maxine:  ::tosses a Good Guess award::  Yep, it was Syl.  And btw, I loved TTT so much that I managed to see it again the next night, on "opening night".  Just to make you hate me more, I know.

Hafae:  I have to keep writing, otherwise I go nuts and start talking to myself.  Actually, I do that anyway.  But at least I write it down afterwards.  Is that better?  Well, I hold firm in my belief that all writers are insane, we just have discovered writing as a way to keep the insanity in check.  Or perhaps encourage it.

Snow Lane:  And a Good Guess award for you!  ::hands SL one::  Being the author, I thought it was obvious…but then, I already knew the answer which helps…sometimes…

Luvya:  Don't be sad, at least you get a Good Guess award for figuring out Syl and Les.  ::presents it::  For anyone still confused at my choice of names, think stELla, miLES.  Yes, that was perhaps overly tricky, but I really don't like those names so I changed them as much as possible while still giving ya'll a chance to guess.  And I even called her Syl first so you'd have an 's' in your mind…

DropsofJupiter:  Definitely cry over Les instead.  Phil being dead isn't necessarily a good thing.  Remember in those really old arcade games, where your only reward for killing a bad guy was to go up against an even badder boss, until you finally die and have to add more quarters?  At least Phil was incompetent.  I'm happy about it though, because my next villain is so much more fun to write…  Oh, and Happy Christmas everyone!  It's still Christmas for me, in my family it lasts for two weeks.

Jennavette:  I'm very sorry about Les.  I didn't want it to happen, but it did and I can't help that, it was as you said necessary.  More on that later.  And thanks for the review.  :)

Poison Ivory:  Well, you got one out of two.  ::gives out yet another Good Guess award::  My goodness there were a lot of those this time!  I must be losing my touch, lol!  Hope you get to a computer soon, poor deprived person.

Rachael West:  lol, thanks!  But you've made the mistake of asking me about writing.  I am sorry.  I'm apologizing in advance because I know I am about to ramble.  Please prepare yourself.

Ok, three really long answers to your one question:  1)first, generally speaking you have to write the way you feel is best to write.  As long as you're not making glaringly wrong mistakes, don't let anyone tell you you must proofread 100 times and rewrite at least twice that before posting.  (But if you get a lot of reviews that say you have grammar, spelling, plot, or cannon errors, that's another matter.)  

2)second, yes I do and no I don't.  When I writing a story, for me I do it a hundred times in my head before it ever sees the actual page.  I tend to lie down and listen to my characters talking to each other for hours, and if eventually they say something I like (they don't always) I'll sit up and write it down.  Then that may or may not get me writing so I can finish the story.  

For Hot Air, as soon as I had the idea to write it the first thing I did was make an outline, and that took literally weeks of tweaking – but just in my head.  I thought about it constantly while working or in class or eating or trying to sleep.  It just about drove me insane.  But then, when I wrote it down finally I only had to make a few minor changes on paper.  And the voices stopped for a while.  Of course, now that whole outline has been tossed almost totally because of further changes I made while writing chapters.  But those are good changes because then I suddenly saw that this was a totally different book than what I started out thinking it was (a quick introduction to the next book).  Some people have to do this process of writing and rewriting on paper, and some do it in their heads, but everyone does it to some extent.  In this past chapter I sat down every day and tried to write the beginning of it.  I would type a few words, delete them, hit my head against the wall and decide playing games on my cell phone was more important.  It took me weeks to get through the first two pages.  Then today, I sat down and wrote the rest of these eight pages, and I probably won't rewrite them at all.  Why?  Well other than the fact that my muse smacked my head against the wall for me this time, the whole reason I couldn't write the first part was that I was busy thinking about the second part, the part I actually wanted to write.  The first part was boring me, so I had to do the rewriting on paper.  The rest I rewrote in my head.  I hope that explains it.  

Oh, and everyone hates their work after they post it.  That's when you realize it's all totally pointless and you really should give up entirely.  But then someone says they like it and your work improves somewhat.  And amazingly, someone whose work you admire says they enjoy your work, and the story becomes Pulitzer prize winning material, and you can't understand why you haven't been published yet (regardless of the fact that you've never actually tried to get published).  At least, this is what happens to me sometimes.  Other times no one says they like it and it stays crap.  Then it's a case of Ugly Baby syndrome (when you've worked hard on something so you know it's beautiful when you've just finished it simply because of the work you did on it, not necessarily because the story is good).  Best solution for that?  When you finish writing something, put it away.  Don't look at it for at least a week.  Then, if you still like it great.  If not, rewrite it.

3)  If you don't mind erm, colorful language in a book and you haven't read it yet, read Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamot (that may not be spelled correctly, I need to look that up).  Seriously best writing book, not to mention funniest I've ever read.  Other books told me I wasn't crazy to write.  This one told me I was crazy, but I should write anyway.  Which, in the end, is exactly what I want to hear, because to me crazy is better than boring any day.  And congratulations if you've read all this, lol.


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue

_Hillside__City__, Three Days Later_

            "Gerald and Helga!"

            Rhonda said this as if everyone at the table had not already heard this news five times that day.  She absently moved her arm to allow Harold to pick the hot peppers off her salad.  

            "I mean, honestly, _Gerald!  And __Helga!"_

            "We've all heard it Rhonda.  Can't we talk about something else?"  Nadine smiled a bit at her best friend bemusedly.

            They were having their usual lunch, and this time Arnold wasn't the only singleton present.  Phoebe had finally been able to get away from her lab for a few hours to join them.

            "I'm sorry Nadine, but it's just a lot to swallow, you know?  I mean, it's just another change to deal with in our circle."

            "Well I'm happy for them," put in Sheena unexpectedly, "But I know what you mean Rhonda.  Ever since Curly ran off with that supermodel I just haven't known what to expect.  I'm stuck in the past, thinking of him as having his closest relationship with Rhonda's hair."  There were a few chuckles from around the table.

            "That's true," Harold looked up from his peppers, "I still have trouble thinking of Phoebe without Gerald.  Ow!  What'd you do that—ow!"  He glared at Rhonda, who had folded her arms and was glaring right back.  Phoebe ducked her head towards her plate to hide a grin.

            "Oh come on Harold, everyone knows about Phoebe and _Edward," Nadine teased._

            Now Phoebe laughed outright.  "Actually that's over.  Don't worry," she quickly assured the worried faces turning suddenly towards her, "It ended well.  It's just that we -- well I really decided that I can't have a normal business relationship with Dr. Colic while I'm dating him, that's all.  We're still good friends though."

            Rhonda shook her head.  "That's our Phoebe, head first, worry about the heart later.  I never thought it would last long."

            But Nadine had other thoughts.  "So you're totally single now?"  When Phoebe nodded, Nadine turned to Arnold with a wicked grin on her face.  "So Arnold, seeing anyone?"  Peapod Kid, who was sitting next to Arnold, caught his wife's eye and elbowed Arnold noticeably, making the table break out into scattered laughs again.

            After lunch the group broke up to head to their various workplaces and homes.  Nadine insisted that she had nothing to do and offered to walk Phoebe back to the lab instead of going straight home.  They walked and chatted for a while, then Nadine became serious.

            "You know Phoebe, I was only half-joking back there.  I really think you and Arnold would be great together."

            "I know you do.  So do most of our friends.  But it's not going to happen."

            "Why not?  Stranger things have.  Look at PK and me."  She smiled warmly.  "We're almost completely different, and you know what?  I couldn't be happier.  Well," she confided, "I wouldn't mind a baby."

            "I thought Peapod and you didn't want kids."

            Her smile wavered slightly.  "He doesn't, not yet.  But I'm working on him."  She winked and Phoebe smiled.  Peapod had always had difficulty refusing Nadine anything.

            They reached the door of Phoebe's lab, and Nadine said she should really buy some groceries and get home.

            "But do think about Arnold, would you?"

            "I do think about him.  Just not like that."

            Nadine sighed.  "You know what your problem is Phoebe Hyerdahl?  You're just not a romantic."  She punched her friend lightly on the arm, waved and left.

            Phoebe waved back and turned to go inside.  Her smile faded a little and her brow furrowed as she entered the building.  After several top secret meetings and a certain way-after-hours delivery of several glass tubes, Phoebe was finally ready to begin her research into the antidote for Hot Air in earnest.  She still had the small cloud sealed in her lab, and she supposed that would be the best place to start.  But this was going to be very challenging, especially as she wasn't allowed to ask anyone else for ideas.

            At that thought she paused.  She was right by Edw—Dr. Colic's office.  Maybe she'd stop by for a second.

            She knocked lightly but no one answered.  She was just about to leave when the door opened.  Dr. Colic stood there with a phone to his ear.  _Oops.  Phoebe made signs to show she was sorry for disturbing him but Edward just shrugged, rolled his eyes and made talking motions with his free hand.  She giggled._

            "I'll be in my lab if you need me," she whispered, and he nodded, smiled and went back inside.

            _Nothing.__  Phoebe nodded to herself.  Edward was just a friend.  She'd made the right decision.  She started walking upstairs.  She loved both Edward and Arnold very dearly as friends, but neither was the love she was waiting for._

            _No Nadine, she thought as she walked, __my problem is not that I'm not a romantic.  My problem is I'm too much of one._

***************

Dr Colic shut the door and waited until he heard Phoebe's footsteps disappear up the stairs before he continued his conversation.

            "Sorry, just my partner.  So as I was saying, the next shipment—right.  Yes.  Yes that's correct.  The situation was taken care of."  The doctor smiled thinly.  "Phil and I came to…an understanding.  He won't be making any more mistakes.  Quite sure."  He listened for a while, nodding occasionally.  "I'll get on that.  Though I doubt any serious progress could be made with the substance before we—"  He was cut off and listened for a few minutes more.  He frowned.  "You really believe they've discovered that much?  Yes.  Yes, well then I agree.  It will not be easy to find out where they put it though.  Our usual contact has come up with nothing and I can't risk—"  He waited then said, "As soon as I can.  Within the year if at all possible, but I can't promise more than that."  He said his goodbyes, hung up and went across the hall to his personal lab.

            There weren't many windows in this area of the building, but then he had chosen this room for that very reason.  Dr Colic stood for a moment gathering his thoughts.  Then he sat and continued working on a medium-sized beaker full of a dark green, almost black substance, putting his other concerns aside for now.  

            Several hundred miles away, someone else was thinking of Dr. Colic's concerns for him.  A large man in a tiny, though relatively clean office was playing a recording over and over.  He had memorized the tape long ago, but was hoping for a lead, some sort of inspiration to come to him.  Two kittens played in the pile of scrap paper he had thrown towards the trash can but missed.  Perhaps he was looking at this problem from the wrong angle.  If he knew more about Ms. Pataki, he would have a much better chance of discovering one of her friends.  But he knew almost nothing about her.  It was a needle in the haystack operation.  He knew he was missing something that would help him.  He knew it.  But what?

            The kittens successfully overturned the trash and happily scattered the papers everywhere.  The man only continued pressing buttons and adjusting knobs.  Beside him on the table was his current project, just a note he had scribbled to himself weeks ago, and besides the recording, all he had to go on for the present.

            Find Phoebe.

A/N:  I'm sorry guys, but the bonus material I've been doing is taking considerably longer than I thought it would, so I'm posting this now and I'll put the bonus stuff up probably in the next week.  I am now going to take a break from this series so I don't go insane.  Some of my other stories desperately need worked on.  But do not despair, I have already written the prologue to the sequel, **Ice Water.  (Btw, this is now officially called the Elements Series.)  It will be posted without fail on ****January 20.  That's a Monday, so I'll post it first thing in the morning when I come to work (about 9am EST).  This will give me enough time to work on the bonus for Hot Air and my other stories in progress before I start this next huge thing, lol.  Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed this story, and especially to those who reviewed.  Couldn't possibly have done this without all of you.  ~PJ**

SassyAngel:  More to come!  I personally think the next story will be better than this one.

DropsofJupiter:  I fully expect to be hated for generations because of the Miles/Les death scene.  Like I've said, it had to happen.  I had no other choice, all I can say is that I'm sorry.  Remember, I did say at the beginning of this that I may do some things people will hate.

Maxine:  Epilogue granted.  I rather like Gerald and Helga together myself.  :)

Rachael West:  I know just what you mean about the inconvenient timing of the Muse.  Mine delights in bowling me over while I'm supposed to be drawing a ridiculously difficult building in AutoCAD.  This leads me to draw impossible structures because I'm thinking instead of the new plot twist in suchandsuch a story.  I think Escher came up with most of his stuff by accident in much the same manner.  :)

Snow Lane:  Two weeks!  I can't wait either, lol.

Poison Ivory:  Lol, don't worry, one of the main reasons I had Stella act that way was specifically to throw people off, grin.  Well, she had a real reason too of course, in that she heard many stories about Helga as a child…but that's off subject.  A rumble, eh?  Bring it on, I owe you a few knocks to the head for not updating your Christmas story yet.  Just kidding, (not like I'm one to talk lately) but really…

joe mama:  Sure, I've read a few TC books.  He's good, but I wouldn't want to read his books exclusively, I'd get a bit tired of it I think.  Glad you enjoyed this.  :)

Luvya:  Two weeks, and I say it again, two weeks!

Hafae:  Finally, here's the epilogue.  But I'm afraid it may just dangle you off a cliff until the prologue to Ice Water, sorry…


	23. Easter Eggs, Hints, Red Herrings, Tribut...

**Easter Eggs, Hints, Red Herrings, Tributes, Inane Trivia and Other Randomness**

**in**** the fanfic "Hot Air"**

Introduction

Every time I write a story, I put in a whole bunch of random "inside jokes" that only I know about, and then wonder if anyone will notice them on their own.  Well, for this story only, I'm including this break down of some of the more interesting easter eggs.  Not your cup of tea?  Heck, I'm not holding a gun to your head, don't read the thing.  But if you enjoy getting inside an author's head, are wondering how many HA! episodes I deliberately referenced, curious as to whether I know how much that one line sounds like something from the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, wish you knew where I hinted as to who Syl, Les or the Doctor was or just plain hoping for a few laughs, plough right ahead.  This is long and I make no apology for it.  Those who read it straight through are probably like me and wishing it was longer.  The rest of you can feel free to skim – I've listed it by chapter to make that easier. ~PJ

Let the Randomness Begin

**How long is this thing anyway?  Hot Air is, according to my word processor, 55,808 words -- 122 pages, not counting disclaimers and author notes.**

**Like a balloon?  I thought up the title long before I had the story complete in my mind.  In fact, I didn't figure out what the heck "hot air" even _was until about three or four chapters into it.  Much less why it was the title of my story._**

**Let's talk about your wordiness issues…  As I've said before, this entire story was originally just an introduction to the next story (Ice Water) – and was planned to be about two pages long!**

**I like the blue silk ones the best.  Pyrus Japonica is the name of my favorite flower, a huge red thing with loads of petals, also known as the Japanese Quince.  In the Victorian Language of the Flowers, it means "fairie's fire".  I'm the only Pyrus Japonica I've ever seen online anywhere, so if you know another PJ from somewhere, it's probably me.**

**Initial this…  Ever notice that Hot Air and Hey Arnold! have the same initials?  Coincidence.**

Prologue

**Hot Air on the silver screen?****  At one point I decided to make HA into a Flash movie.  I even storyboarded the prologue for it.  What's stopping me?  The fact that I can't draw in Flash.  **

**Picky picky…  Helga's watch should really read in Celsius rather than Fahrenheit, but I've never been good with judging metric so I cheated.**

**Das**** reference  Helga's rat phobia is a reference to Das Subway.  Incidentally, my little sister owns three rats, and they're so cute, like itty bitty dogs.  Seriously, they walk on leashes and everything.  But they're not really into chasing cats.**

**I knew I shouldn't have started in the middle!  One of the reasons I don't mention Helga and Gerald's names here is that I had no idea it was them when I first wrote it.  When I finally decided it was them, I accidentally left in the "I knew we shouldn't have taken this job!" line, so I had to work that into the plot later on, rather sloppily I might add.  Whoops.  Guess I need a Beta.**

**Why does Hot Air glow?  Again, I wrote this before I figured out what Hot Air was.  In my original idea, the glowing green tubes were toxic waste.  Why?  Not a clue, it just seemed like a good idea at the time.**

**Hints anyone?  It is possible to guess right off the bat who these two shadows are.  The rat thing gives Helga away of course.  Gerald is slightly harder, since one's first thought might be Arnold.  But really, does Arnold do one-liners?  Hardly.  It's gotta be the future talk show co-host.  :)**

Chapter 1

In Which Gerald Decides To Make Some Changes in His Life

**In which PJ finally flips…  By far the hardest part to writing these chapters?  The titles.  I had to change each one about four or five times, and I'm still not happy with some of them.**

**Most diverse menu  Ox-tail soup and ostrich steaks are available at South African restaurants, in case you'd like to try them.  I've had both, and they're really good.**

**The numbers never lie  Gerald and Ginger are seated at table forty-three.  Now, we all know Gerald's number is thirty-three.  Something is wrong.  Obviously, he's added too much to his life – and that too much is Ginger.  Yes, I'm stretching it.  I told you these were inside jokes.**

**Yadda**** yadda yadda  Ginger calls Gerald "Gerry" right after he uses the "it's not you, it's me" line.  That's right, Seinfeld lives on.**

**Sugar and Spice  Ginger is of course named for her red hair.  And temper, I might add.  Also, I liked the way it sounded with Gerald.**

**These "friends" of yours…are they visible?  "…friends…slightly psychotic acquaintances…same thing" is a quote my friends and I say to each other.  Rather often, actually.**

**Why ****New Jersey****?  I have a friend who lives "as close as you can get to NJ without falling in the river" so I know something about the state, and I don't know anyone who lives there.  And it's a boring state, that is, not DC or California or something else everyone knows about.  It was either that or Idaho, but I don't think Idaho really exists.  I mean come on, who have you ever met from Idaho?  Can you even think of a city in Idaho off the top of your head?  (Boise doesn't count, I think it really is in France anyway.)  I firmly believe that "Idaho" is actually some sort of space void entirely populated by potatoes, with possible random visits from aliens.**

**Breaking your own rules…  "Never date your boss."  Of course, Helga is still technically Gerald's boss at the end of the story.**

**Male mail  "American Express bill…I may have won a million bucks…application for an American Express card…"  A Douglas Adams bit.  In The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul, the main character receives in the mail a letter threatening to take away his American Express in the same post as an application for the same card.**

**By the way, somewhere in this chapter is a clue for a major plot point in the third – that's right, third – story in this series.  No kidding.**

**Heh**** heh.****  Yeah that's right.  The guy who's going for coffee's name is Joe.**

**Life imitating art  "He had never realized that a desk job was so…boring."  Written at my own desk job.  Ick.**

**Twitchy  Simon's eye twitch comes from my friend Steve's eye twitch, which I always found fascinating.  Not that he'll ever read this, but still.**

**Beautiful endings  I needed a name for a medical/chemical export/import company.  "Med" is taken.  "Chem" is taken.  So Ical it was.  I tend to pronounce it "eye-cal".**

**Female dogs and other fun things to write  People have asked why Helga is so mean at first.  Well, first of all we meet her when she's all worked up about a stupid paperwork thing Phil has done apparently just to irritate her.  She's been on this boring undercover position for what, six months now?  And suddenly an old childhood friend shows up.  Coincidence?  She doesn't know.  He could be the enemy, and in fact at first she's sure he is.  So she goes back to her old stand-by mask, the bully.  It's not who she is, but she sure is good at it.  And if Gerald had been there totally innocently, what would he have done?  Just avoided her.  The fact that he didn't set off all sorts of warning bells in Helga's mind.  Hence the panicked 3am phone call to Moria.**

**On appearances.****  Most of the grownup versions of HA! characters in here look very similar to what they did in Married.  Gerald also reminds me a bit of Will Smith, but that's another story.  Helga has killed the unibrow but refuses to pluck any more than necessary, bushy eyebrows are fine with her.  And she's good looking but not super-model-Helga.  Helga's suit here is like her president outfit, minus the huge pink bow.  She doesn't wear pink bows anymore, though she did all through high school.  Arnold's the obvious exception, he's not kid-with-long-legs nor the lounge lizard.  He's Arnold the Arteest.  Imagine that as you will.**

**Incidentally, Gerald is attracted to Helga the moment he sees her, as seen by the automatic straightening of his tie.  Before he realizes who she is of course.**

Chapter 2

In Which We Meet the Pink Nazi, and Gerald Discovers Surprises Tend to Come in Pairs

**Grandpa?****  Why is Phil's name Phil?  I don't know.  He wouldn't tell me.**

**Why isn't Helga running the Beeper Empire?  This will possibly be discussed in the next book.  If not, then the next.**

**A clue, a clue!  In Helga's note, she refers to Gerald as Tall Hair Boy (despite his now cropped locks).  This is a prior hint as to who PB is later in her email.**

**"Yes Mrs. Pataki," was originally a typo.  When I saw that the errand boy had said it, I toyed with the idea of her really being married, but decided on the ruse instead.  'Sides, "Mrs. Pataki" sounds more intimidating than "Ms. Pataki".**

**Tiny clue to another plot point in book three also in this chapter.  Yeah I'm big on plotting ahead.**

**Bring me the head of Willy the mailman!  "Cubeville" is a Dilbert reference.**

**12 Angry Helgas  Helga's aliens-in-her-nose thought is similar, though not quite the same, as the line she has in False Alarm.**

**Yet another reference…  Stinky says Arnold lives a charmed life in Monkeyman.**

**And another…****  We find out how much Grandpa can bench press in Parent's Day, of course.**

**And yet another…  Of course, the Nadine/PK and Sheena/Eugene pairings are from Married.  Such a great episode.**

**For those of you who noticed the pause Arnold takes when he "finds out" Helga is married, yes he has quite a few thoughts to think about that.  No, they are not all good, nor are they all bad.  Yes, something obviously happened with the whole Arnold/Helga thing.  No, Gerald doesn't know the whole story.  And no, I'm not going to talk about it anymore right now.  Remember, Hot Air was a _Gerald story.  If you're very good maybe I'll tell you what happened later._**

Chapter 3

In Which Mysteries Abound Freely

**Phil the amateur  "_If I didn't know better I'd say this place was amateurly booby trapped."  It was.  Phil wanted to be warned if someone else was in the building.  _**

**Eh?  Ok, the run-down of the Ical break-in:  Phil got there first.  He booby-trapped the building then took his time checking out Helga's office and setting up a keycatcher.  (He considered a phone tap as well but opted not to press his luck, he knew Helga fairly well by then.)  As he was on his way to Gerald's cubicle, he heard Gerald downstairs.  Quickly, he hid in his office down the hall.  Helga entered the building around here, but she also heard Gerald and decided to go around a back way instead.  Gerald then came in and searched Helga's office.  Phil came out, thinking Gerald was gone, put the keycatcher on Gerald's computer and went back down the hall.  But Gerald heard him as he left.  Gerald went to check out his cubicle just as Helga was coming up the side stairs.  He hid but she saw him anyway, hearing at the same time the guard coming behind her.  So, Helga ran down the hall, knocking a trash can over on the way and successfully distracting the guard from Gerald, who left soon after.  All in all, the only one who really got anything done that night was Phil.**

**Blissful  The picture in Helga's office is Edward Hopper's _Summertime, otherwise known as the picture on Dr. Bliss' wall in Helga on the Couch.  It also hangs in my living room.  (I love Edward Hopper.  Very strange man.)_**

**What's with the bear?  Get used to the flashback thing.  Ice Water is full of it.  And why is it that they always put such ugly animals in those claw games, anyhow?  More on high school and various relationships therein in the next few books, btw.**

**PB=Red Herring  Possible "PB"s include Phoebe or Phil Briteon.  **

**For the two people who wanted to read Harold's proposal, yes it may possibly fit into a future story.  We'll see.**

**Helga's drawer  Any writer knows that you need to have notebooks around in case your muse slaps you at work.  Helga is apparently no exception.  And get used to that photo.  It shows up quite a bit more.  It was taken on an interesting day.**

Chapter 4

In Which Gerald Fights the Evil Laser Printer, Helga Plots, Arnold Paints, and Phoebe Finally Makes an Appearance

**Printers and other evil monstrosities  The IE666 is named for obvious reasons.  Say "IE" out loud at the top of your lungs and then add "666" like the coroner in the Hey Arnold Movie and you'll have a pretty good idea of what I think of printers.**

**And your lucky number is…  And of course, the printer gives only Gerald error 33.**

**…and Gog and Magog  I blame Og for all my computer problems, Pog for printer issues, and Cog for car breakdowns.  Don't ask me why, I don't know.**

**I am Thelma…  Gerald's "percussion therapy" conversation is partially from Space Cases, one of those really great shows that Nickelodeon cancelled.  I have almost all their episodes on tape.**

**Back in the lab  Phoebe's lab won the Viksten Science and Technology Grant.  Apparently the bicycle shop paid off.**

**Best Friends  Major tip-off that Helga isn't married here – sure, Helga isn't the greatest at keeping in touch, but don't you think she'd manage to let Phoebe know?**

**Speaking of tip-offs  A little thought (ok, maybe a lot of thought) about what Helga is up to added to the bonus info here that she used to live in Virginia (CIA headquarters is in Langley, Virginia) and remembering that Gerald said the anti-terrorism division was a joint-effort might just lead you to understand what Helga is doing in New Jersey.**

Chapter 5

In Which Questions Are Answered.  Some of Them Anyway

**The joy of having a boss  I hope ya'll enjoy Moria and Simon, because there's going to be a lot more of them in the future.**

**Just a thought  Anyone know what Simon's last name is?**

**But ****Virginia****!  Breakfast is bacon!  When Helga realizes she's late for work, she says "Cripes!"  This is a tribute to Wolf from the wonderful mini-series, The 10th Kingdom.**

**Runaway Bus  No, Helga nor Arnold ever told Gerald why Helga suddenly showed up to help save the neighborhood.  He may find out later.**

**Seems like I'm missing something…  What Gerald forgot to remember at the end of the chapter was that he hadn't asked Helga about the keycatcher he found.**

Chapter 6

In Which the Title of This Fic Actually Comes Into Play

**Stay awake…  Helga stabbing herself with her pen was inspired by a deleted scene in Heartbreakers, where Sigourney Weaver stabs herself with a fork to stay awake.**

**Plot hole number 23…  How did Gerald get Helga's cell number?  Erm…maybe Phoebe…except he hasn't talked to her…or Moria maybe for some reason?**

**What have I got in my pocket?  The full text of the Yiddish joke Gerald tells is something like this:**

Me:  What hangs on the wall, is green, wet and whistles?

You:  No clue.

Me:  A herring.

You:  What?  A herring doesn't hang on the wall.

Me:  Hang it there then.

You:  But herrings aren't green!

Me:  Paint it green.

You:  But it's not wet!

Me:  It is if you just painted it.

You:  But, but herrings don't whistle!!

Me:  I know.  I just put that part in to make it hard.

Another stupid random joke like that:

Me:  I bet I can make you say white.

You:  Ok.

Me:  What color is your shirt?

You: Uh, green.

Me:  See, I told you I could make you say green!

You:  No you didn't, you said you could make me say white…oh.

**Flawed thinking  "They're smuggling the contents of Gerald's head?"  This joke is the sole reason I decided to name this fic Hot Air, far before I had worked out the plot.  Well I think it's funny anyway.**

**Luddites**** in the real world  "It's just evil medieval-aged laser printers that hate me I don't like."  After I told my roommate Teri that she really couldn't handle computers (I don't even have the heart to tell you what her computer had done to her) she said something like this to me.  Hey, I give credit where credit is due.**

Chapter 7

In Which Someone is Excited, Someone is Sad, Someone is Frightened, and Someone is Bad

**Just for the record  Arnold is excited, Phoebe is sad, Helga is frightened, and Gerald is bad.  Ok, not really bad, he just breaks a few rules.  But "Someone is a Rulebreaker" doesn't fit with my cool little rhyming scheme.**

**More on ****Arnold****  What happens when a miracle-worker loses the source of his power?  Arnold hasn't really lost all hope, he's just a little depressed and, not that he would admit it, slightly bored with his life.  (He's also lost a few other things that he doesn't realize, but are quite important.)  It seems that exciting things happen to everyone but him lately.  Don't worry Arnold, you'll have your share of adventures in the next stories.  Although once you have them, you'll probably wish you could go back, lol.**

**Something to think about  You know, Simon and Moria never did explain why they were missing for so long.  That will probably come up again later.**

**Tea vs. Coffee, the Deathmatch  I am a die-hard tea-drinker.  (Twinnings Earl Gray, mmm)  I hate coffee.  Coffee is evil.  Everyone in my family, plus my three roommates are all die-hard coffee-addicts.  The conversation between Gerald and Helga has been repeated in my life many, many times.  Which is why Gerald is outnumbered in my story – both Helga and Phoebe drink only tea.  Arnold still prefers hot chocolate.  :)**

**Black marks  I'm not sure, but my bet is that the majority of Helga's code-breaks have had to do with either a) not doing the paperwork, or b) ignoring authority, with a good amount of c) Unnecessary Emotional Emasculation of Jerk-wad Coworkers thrown in.**

**But they make me feel like family…  Dr. Colic's excuse of having a big family thing is of course totally bogus.  He just had to make an in-person report to Brazil.**

**Flowers and other reasons to live  I'm big on the language of flowers from Victorian times, so pretty much anytime you see a flower in one of my stories, you can bet it means something.  In the picture everyone will grow to know and love by the end of this series (or ignore and hate, depending on the person I suppose) there are a number of interesting flowers.  Arnold has two rosebuds, white and pink.  He may not realize it, but that symbolizes both a dead love and a hopeful love, slightly ironic choices for him.  Helga's lily just means purity, but she chose it for a different association.  And finally, Sheena's wild daisies and Queen Anne's Lace are a special meaning for me.  I wrote that part right after something had just happened to me which basically broke my heart, and I associate Queen Anne's Lace with that experience.  Wild daisies mean "I will think of it."  Just a little memento for me.**

Chapter 8

In Which Helga Gets Chewed Out, And Gerald Gets Help

**Gerald Perry  Gerald's "Good choice then." is inspired slightly by Matthew Perry's "Well then obviously you made the right choice." when Bruce Willis explains that he either had to kill him or the other guy he just shot in The Whole Nine Yards.**

**And another number alert  Apparently, even Mr. Smith knows that Gerald's number is 33.**

**Enter Dr. Colic  The tall man, of course, is the not-so-good doctor's first appearance.**

Chapter 9

In Which Our Little Team Gets Back Together

**Pumpkins and puddin'  Don't worry, any Stinky fans out there.  He'll show up again.**

**Just a note  Parade balloons scare the bejeebuz out of me.  Arnold's painting at this point gives me the willies.**

Chapter 10

In Which Phil Attempts to Redeem Himself

**A natty natty dresser  Of course, Helga's known Gerald looks good in a suit even since her dream in Married.**

**FGWK  The Fat Guy With Kittens will show up again, I enjoy writing him.  As a side note, he's related to someone we all know and love, who hasn't shown up yet but may later.  (No, not Curly or Brainy, that'd be too obvious.)**

**Pod Person Helga  Phoebe's Hare Krishna line is another tribute to that wonderful episode, Helga on the Couch.**

**Yeah yeah, he looks great, typical  This is how I tend to picture Gerald after near-death experiences – coming out in a suit, driving a Mustang.  Heh, I love it.  And yes, eventually we will hear what happened, or rather didn't happen with Gerald and Phoebe in High School as well as the Arnold/Helga story.**

**Bad Guys Don't Smuggle in Health Drinks  I want a bumper sticker that says that, just to confuse people.  :)**

**The clothes make the man…dead  The valet's uniform includes a red shirt for a reason.  In old Star Trek episodes, the "normal" crew, ie not the stars, would wear red shirts and were there pretty much for the sole purpose of being eaten/killed/maimed/destroyed by whatever alien life form the crew had just found.  The life span of one of these guys was something like 5.3 seconds after getting on the screen.  (One might wonder where all these extra crew members were coming from, but then one would be questioning the wisdom of Star Trek.)  Therefore, often in Sci-Fi circles people who die right after your heros meet them are called "Red Shirts".  **

**Plot hole?  What plot hole?  So…where in the explosion did Gerald manage to get back the Mustang's keys which he had given to the valet?  Erm, maybe the force of the explosion rocketed them towards him, and he scooped them up right before they ran away?  Yeah, that's it…**

Chapter 11

In Which We Get a Bit Mushy

**Unidentified Flying Plants  The reason Phoebe's computer system can't identify the plant substances in Hot Air is that it only has a database of North American plants.  And most of the ones in Hot Air, as you may have guessed, are from the jungles of South America.  (Hence the location of the camp later on.)**

**You're a smooth one, Dr. Colic…  Edward is pretty slick, horribly intelligent, and he also knows Phoebe very well.  A worthy villain for Ice Water, I believe.**

**Unknowing help  Although he's started by helping Phoebe.  His using the word "concentrate" set her off thinking about the concentrations of plutonium in the plant samples.  Pure coincidence, of course, but amusing none the less.**

**A hint…  As always with my mystery characters, it is possible to guess the Doctor's identity.  For example, in this scene Dr. Colic has to duck under Phoebe's doorway, and he's the only male doctor in this story.  Any other tall doctors come to mind?**

**The Atlanta/Delta Airport  Atlanta is an awesome city, but it really is the busiest airport in the States, and not, unfortunately, the largest.  Rather crazy at times.  Delta takes up an entire terminal for itself, it's based there.  Dave Barry tends to crack jokes about it.**

**It's, um, a really big plane  Although Delta does do direct flights for Paris, Toronto and London from Atlanta, I doubt very much that it does for Tokyo.  Tokyo and Atlanta are pretty much on the exact opposite sides of the globe, most jets need to stop and refuel somewhere.  (I don't remember how many hours the flight is, but the number coming to my head is something like 15 hours?  Dunno.)**

**Grandmothers and twenty-somethings  I knit, and it's true – I am no longer allowed to bring knitting needles on airplanes, sigh.  Metal ones obviously, but now they even take away plastic and bamboo sometimes. **

**Gate 23  So now Gerald must be missing something in his life.  Any guesses, heh?**

**Exceptions to rules  Gerald and Helga did not have plane tickets yet, in case you were wondering.  They got past security by showing their badges instead.**

**Phone calls and lack thereof  Apparently, Simon and Moria are missing again.**

**"Doesn't sound as cool."****  The real reason it's called Hot Air.**

**Lab explosions  Helga said that random comment about not wanting to read about a lab explosion, well, randomly.  She said it and I wrote it down without thinking about it much.  I was rather amused when this prompted people to freak out when Grandpa told Arnold about Arnie later.  (Thinking he was going to say Phoebe had died.)**

**Why does Mr. Smith whisper?  Simple.  You can't identify a whisper.  If you speak in a normal voice, no matter how much you disguise it there's always the possibility someone will hear something they recognize.  With a whisper, if you do it properly, you can't even tell the gender of the speaker.  No kidding.**

Chapter 12

In Which the Jungle Beckons

**Poor Smitty  I tend to feel sorry for Mr. Smith whenever he has to deal with Gerald, lol.**

**Luncheons  I love writing the lunch scenes, everything seems to flow really easily there.  I generally picture Rhonda dominating the conversation, with Nadine holding her in check when necessary and everyone else interjecting various one-liners.  Rather like one of Rhonda's parties.**

**The Fuzzy Menace  One of our cats at home is horribly afraid of lint.  Of course, he's afraid of everything.  He tends to spend much of his time running around the house meowing to himself.  We think he ran into a few too many walls head-first as a kitten.**

**For the two or even three people who want more of the Pataki's, yep they'll be showing up again in one form or another, I'm sure.  I for one am just glad I got out of writing Helga's explanation of why Olga couldn't call her for so long.  **

**Steve Irwin?  Ok yes, so he's white.  And Australian.  In my opinion, if you wear kaki shorts you look like the Crocodile Hunter, I don't care who you are.**

**Dreams  I'm sorry, I just had to get that black outfit from Married in there somewhere.  It just makes me laugh.**

**You've got a contact  "She gonna carry a red carnation in a copy of _Anna Karenina or something?"  In the movie The Shop Around the Corner (which You've Got Mail was based on, go see it if you haven't, it's better and it has Jimmy Stewart in it) Jimmy Stewart is supposed to recognize the girl he's been writing letters to by the red carnation in her copy of __Anna Karenina._**

**Speaking of lost luggage  The last time I went to Tokyo I had to live out of _my handbag for four days.  Oy._**

**And another clue  Now to me, a forty-ish mysterious woman with short brown hair in South America just screams Stella in a Hey Arnold! fic.  But, as several of you have mentioned to me, her attitude towards Helga does tend to throw people off.  Which I did on purpose of course.  :)**

Chapter 14

In Which Death Interrupts

**Pinky?****  "Nezume" means "mouse" in Japanese.**

**More excuses…  Gee, I wonder where Dr. Colic had to get to this time?**

**Ok, but save me a seat on the bus  The "little sprinkles" doughnuts are a mild reference to Phoebe Breaks a Leg.**

**For future reference  Syl's "grand tour" line is from Olga's Fiancé.**

**"She could practically be your mother!"  Or your best friend's mother, as the case may be.**

**Violent Attraction  Gerald's line about women reacting in anger is, unfortunately from that incredibly stupid movie that I can't believe I watched, Evolution.**

Chapter 15

In Which Syl Has Some Explaining To Do (yes it's an I Love Lucy chapter!  …or not.)

**Standard equipment  Boy would I like to have the contents of Mr. Smith's box.  The transmogifier is from Calvin and Hobbes, and the denerualizer is from MIB.  And really you shouldn't go anywhere without chewing gum and aluminum foil.**

**Ricky Martin and other reasons to ban radio waves  The pop station in the middle of the jungle isn't too far from the truth.  I've been in the middle of a third-world culture on the other side of the world and heard Britney Spears coming from the bazaar tents.**

**Yet another clue  "What a conniving, crafty little…"  This line was intended as a pure hint.  It's the same thing Helga thinks about Arnold's mother in Missing Pieces.  My apologies to Poison Ivory.**

**A quick explanation  As you may have figured out, Mr. Smith gives Stella information on how things are going back in the States.  The reason she's crying in this chapter is that he just told her about Arnie's death, who was after all her brother's son (for the purpose of this story anyway).**

**Chalk up another one  Yet another tea-drinker only:  Stella.**

**Hello Empire Records, open 'til ****midnight****.  What?  ****Midnight****!  "Why are you hiding your phone from us El?"  "Don't call me El."  "Why, is that a fake name too?"  -- this whole bit here is inspired from Empire Records, where this bit is played out:  "Why are you here Warren?"  "Don't call me Warren!  My name is not…Warren!"  "His name's not Warren?"  "His name's not Warren."  "I thought his name was Warren?"**

**Heh**** heh  Can't you just picture this conversation?**

Arnold:  You mean…you met my parents?

Helga:  Erm, yeah.  I guess so.

Arnold:  What were they like?  What did they say?  What did you do?  (etc.)

Helga:  Um, well, I sort of gave your mom a bloody lip…

**Lord of the…ok Lady of the…well never mind  "I'm here to _protect you, whether I like it or not."  Sounds a bit like Aragorn's "Frodo, I swore to protect you." eh?  "Can you protect me from yourself?"_**

**It's a quote.  Only without the quote.  Phoebe's "It's a bomb.  Only without the bomb." line is what Basher says about the pinch in Ocean's 11.**

**MIB (quote) II  Agent L is the girl partner's name at the end of the first Men in Black.**

**Oh, and by the way…  In my Author's Note at the end of this chapter I stuck in some fake chapter titles.  Well really, they were a pretty good indication of what was to come.  Consider:**

16: In Which We Finally Get to the Prologue  -- well, we did.

17: In Which Nothing Important Happens.  Nope, Nothing at All.  – ok, a bit of sarcasm here it's true.  This *was* the chapter where Helga and Gerald got started after all.

18: In Which Phoebe Discovers Common Ground With Stinky  -- Stinky is, according to Harold in Big Caesar, "psycho".  Well this is the chapter where Phoebe has that creepy dream.  (for more on that, see that chapter in this FAQ)

19: In Which I Stick Everything Important I Forgot to Put in Another Chapter  -- This actually took me two chapters, but hey, I forgot a lot of stuff, lol

Chapter 16

In Which Helga Baits, Arnold Sinks and Gerald's Hooked

**What's in a name?  Elle Woods is from Legally Blonde.  I find it amusing that Helga's calling Stella this.**

**Random advice  They say that one of the best cures for depression is to start _doing something, especially something for someone else or something with clear results.  So Arnold's on the right track._**

Chapter 17

In Which Gerald and Helga Spend Some Quality Time Together…In Prison

**Counting relationships  Gerald's "two real relationships" are of course Ginger and Phoebe.  He's not sure either of them count because Ginger was, well, Ginger, and he and Phoebe were never officially dating.**

**Speaking of which, if you rearrange the first letters of Helga's boyfriends ever so slightly, you can make a certain football-headed name appear.  Just a bonus Easter Egg.**

Chapter 18

In Which We Have the Calm Before the Storm

**Ever been cubed?  To understand Phoebe's dream a little deeper than the obvious (the theme of danger, someone close to her hurting her, etc.) you must first understand the "cube" personality test.  Here's how you do it:**

1)  Close your eyes and imagine a desert.  Take a few moments for it to sink in.

2)  Now, imagine a cube in the desert.  Where is it?  What does it look like?  How big is it?  What kind of material is it made of?  Any other details come to mind?  If it seems important to you, make a note of it.

3)  Next, place a ladder in the desert.  What kind of material is it made of?  Where is it in relation to the cube?  Is it well-made, roughly constructed, barely hanging together?  Does it lean against anything or away from anything?  What else about the ladder is noticeable?

4)  Last, add a horse to the desert.  Where is it in relation to the cube and the ladder?  What kind of horse is it?  What color(s)?  Is it well-groomed, shaggy, wild?  How big is it?  Is it doing anything in particular?  Does it have a saddle or bridle on, and if so what do they look like?  Also note anything else important about the horse.  When you have the full picture of desert, cube, ladder and horse fixed in your mind, you're done.

To understand the test:

The cube represents yourself.  Its size is the size of your ego.  How close it is to the ground represents how "grounded" you are in reality.  (Someone who buries their cube in the sand wants security desperately and is very focused on day-to-day living, whereas someone whose cube is flying ten feet in the air isn't concerned with "mundane life" at all, tending to spend their time in a fantasy world and often shirking responsibilities.)

The ladder represents your friends.  If the material of the ladder is different than that of the cube, you like to have friends who are different from yourself.  Is it leaning against the cube?  Your friends depend on you, or you want them to.  The distance the ladder is from the cube represents the distance you prefer to keep between yourself and your friends.

The horse represents your lover (or a lover you would be attracted to if you don't have one currently).  A pony means you have a childish lover.  The distance between the horse and the ladder and cube is the distance you keep between your lover and your friends and yourself.

Beyond those basics, you have to look at universal symbols and symbols that are meaningful to you.  A universal symbol would be one that anyone could recognize.  For example, my friend had a horse that was white with a black mane and tail.  White is traditionally a symbol of purity and innocence, whereas black is usually evil or impure.  So he wanted a lover who was essentially good…with a bit of evil in them, lol.  On the other hand some symbols only you can recognize.  My sister put a lizard on top of her cube.  If you didn't know her, you might think up all sorts of things that the lizard might represent.  But for her, she just put the lizard there because she loves animals and felt that you couldn't have a desert without lizards.  So putting it on top of the cube only meant that animals were very important to her.

So, Phoebe's dream.  Her cube is very small, transparent, resting on the ground, and tinged pink at the edges.  It is also empty.  She hears a horse whinny in the distance, but no ladder is in sight.  A possible interpretation of this first part of her dream is that her self-esteem is very low, so much so that she almost feels invisible – her only identity seems to be located with Helga.  She is a practical person by nature and not necessarily depressed right now, but she is empty, and she knows it.  Her current lover is pretty much out of the picture, or will be soon.

However, Phoebe is not as alone in the desert as she thinks she is.  There are three people there, her subconscious is trying to tell her.  One means to do her harm, but the other two – they are the key to her escape.

Of course, this is only one explanation.  There may be others.  And in case anyone was wondering, here's my cube:  I have a cube about the size of a breadbox, and it is usually on the sand, though it tends to suddenly rise up about four feet in the air or so.  You might say it bounces, lol.  Inside it is a golden spark that dances and flames and reflects in the curves and dips of the rough glass the cube is made of.  The ladder, made of rough wood, is about a foot away or so, leaning away from the cube and meshing with the horse.  You almost can't tell the one from the other.  It's not put together very well, and looks as though it might give splinters fairly easily, but then again it is also well-used, and may be stronger than it looks.  The horse is a pinto, slightly on the shaggy side, with a bridle though he jerks about as if to throw it off.  He seems rather restless, tossing his head and snorting, but there is nothing holding him there.  He could leave anytime if he really wanted to, but doesn't.  Actually he might just be trying to get closer to the cube, but the ladder is in his way.

Heh, make of that what you will.

Chapter 19

In Which the Storm Breaks

**More interesting hints in this chapter, as far as the rest of the series goes.**

**Temple**** of what now?****  Gerald's leather jacket line is from both Monkey Island (1 through 4) and Indiana Jones.**

**Would that be strawberry or grape?  Miles' "in a jam" line stems from the firm belief I hold to that all fathers are the master of corny sayings.**

Chapter 20

In Which We Wrap Up a Few Things and Unravel Others

**The rest of the story  Yes, we'll hear more about what happened to Stella and Miles all those years ago later.**

**Waiting for the paper napkins to be loaded is a Douglas Adams bit.  He wrote about a space flight on a dead planet, where the passengers were put on life support and hibernation status for millions of years while the robotic crew waited for lemon-scented napkins to be loaded.  When the crew was told that there was no longer a civilization on the planet to *make* napkins, they responded that there probably would be one in another couple billion years or so, lol.**

**Plot hole?  What plot hole?  So…when did Syl have time to write this letter, anyway?  Possibly while driving?  Or maybe she stopped in the jungle after seeing Helga take a bullet for Les to write a letter before running off to find them, lol.  Well, we'll just say that Gerald took the wheel for a bit and Helga slept on the way to the airport.  Yeah, that's it.**

Epilogue

**Background characters  For those of you who are obsessed with Nadine (you know you are), she'll be appearing quite a bit more in the next story.**

(Whew!  16 pages of freaking notes!  I must be out of my mind!  ~PJ)


End file.
